Things Only Ace Thinks About

Stupid odd numbers

2007-07-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

I've only been listening to the radio today (man, I miss my cable), but I've already heard more than I want to about the significance of today's date. Apparently a lot of people are getting married today. Due to my intense hatred/fear of odd numbers (especially prime), I choose to pretend that today is July 6th still.

And I'm okay with how crazy that sounds.

In other news, today is my last day of being connected with the rest of the world on a regular basis. I return to the land that knows no cell towers. Nor internet service, other than dial-up. Oh yes, I'm heading back to Montana.

If you haven't heard from me by September, that means that either the isolation got to me and I killed some people just for entertainment, or that a rattlesnake hunted me down.

Dee-Licious

2007-07-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

First, everyone should go watch the latest Die Hard. It should just be on your summer to-do list. Because it rocks.

Second, although I love my new apartment very much, my bedroom and office are on the second floor. And it is very hot up there. My TV and Scrubs DVDs, though, are on the much cooler first floor. Guess how much work I've gotten done?

Third, why was the Thai place closed yesterday? It wasn't a holiday. I was looking forward to take-out all day. Ass-hats.

Fourth, I'm pretty sure that my cat is gone for good. While I enjoy not cleaning out the cat box, I think that talking to a cat was good for my crazy. Now I just talk to myself. Should I get a new cat when I get back from my summer travels? I'm thinking no, since I don't actually like owning pets. And I think I'd rather have a dog anyways. I'm not allowed dogs at my new place, but if I got a long-haired chihuahua, do you think my landlords will figure out that my "cat" barks?

On the boats, and on the planes

2007-07-05T09:32:00.000-07:00

So Mississippi, a part of the SOUTH, was hot and humid. Those are truly my memories from my trip last week. That's all that I have right now, but we'll see if just saying that gets people angry at me for attacking the South. Are all the Sally Sensitive's still lurking out there?

I got back late, late, late Friday night and spent the next morning moving. Thanks to the help of some very nice and, more importantly, strong friends, we were done by noon. I am officially out of the ghetto and my new neighbors have not yet woke with me with their yelling or left trash out on the patio. So I clearly love it.

I spent part of yesterday on the lake, drinking and eating, and the evening at a friend's house, eating, drinking, and watching fireworks. And listening to the music Pullman chose to choreograph the fireworks too. It's just not the Fourth without Neil Diamond's ode to the U.S. of A. And now I know the Coast Guard's anthem. Only Pullman, I think, would play that hidden treasure. It was awesome.

Now I'm getting ready to spend three weeks without my cell phone and reliable internet service in Montana. This won't help much with the crazy, now will it?

Freedom, I won't let you down, but I will not give you up

2007-06-26T19:49:00.001-07:00

I can't even begin to tell you all how happy and relived I am right now. I'm sure you all, like me, have been nervously following the long ordeal of America's sweetheart. Twenty-three days, my friends. Twenty-three long days. But it's over now. Thank baby Jesus.

That's right. Paris is free.

After serving some hard time, Paris Hilton is out of jail. I thought it was my duty (heh-heh, duty) to let everyone know, because the media has failed us yet again. Instead of informing us of this momentous occasion, the media has been keeping a tight lid on it, the Watergate of the 21st century. So I figured no one knew. She should do a big/unnecessary interview with a famous journalist. Like the creepy egomaniac with big glasses and suspenders. That would be awe. Some.

Seriously, could there be anything else on TV today except coverage of our favorite anorexic leaving jail? Isn't there some kind of conflict in the Middle East or some confusion on the vice president's role in the three branches of the federal government? Something, anything, more newsworthy than the blonde twig from The Simple Life? And she's not even the semi-cool one (semi-cool only because her "dad" rocked in the 80s).

In other news, my interview went well. At least from my perspective. But I must say that I enjoyed six hours of people asking me all about me. I'm my favorite topic, after Elvis. And I enjoyed a very nice lunch and delicious dinner, as well. Tomorrow, bright and freaking early, I take off for Ole Miss. Jackson, Mississippi, here I come.

And how about no more fuck-tarded comments on my site regarding what exactly constitutes the South? That would be fantastic. The South is more than just the states who got all uppity back in the 1860s. That's a really simplistic definition of the South. I define the South as any state that is full of people with funny accents who love Nascar. So Kentucky, just FYI, is part of the South, even though it stuck with the good guys during the Civil War. History lesson complete, bitches.

The Great Outdoors

2007-06-25T18:09:00.000-07:00

People don't always think I'm super outdoorsy. But I am. I'm all about Mother Nature. In theory.

I took a little mini-vacation this last weekend to scenic Coeur d'Alene. As a late birthday celebration (in my mind, if no one else's), I wanted to go fishing on the lake. Fishing for me means a boat and alcohol. Fishing to others, though, apparently means worms, fishing poles, and mean jokes about my lack of fishing abilities.

But I know that you're all wondering if this little Girl Scout caught anything. I bet you're all thinking that I don't even know how to fish. I scoff at your scepticism. Scoff, scoff, scoff. I'm from Idaho, people. As you all know, you can take the girl out of Idaho, but you can never take the mad Idaho skills out of the girl.

But in answer to your (unspoken) question, uh, I actually don't know how to fish. I tried to cast this weekend, but that required way too much hand-eye coordination for me. And apparently, you have to continue casting if you are using a flashy lure to trick the fish into thinking that the lure is really some delicious bug-type-thing. Non-stop. You don't stop. All that casting was distracting me from my margaritas.* So I decided that the lure wasn't the way to go. I would just kill an innocent worm. Fishing with a worm means dropping the line into the water and sitting there while waiting for the pole to move.**

And move it did.

I squealed with delight, basking in the glory of being the first to catch something. My gloating was quickly quelled when I couldn't reel the fucker in and my fellow fisher-person had to take care of business for me. But then I just thought that I must have caught the granddaddy of all the fish in the lake, since it was too big for me to reel in by myself.***

So the other person kept reeling in and reeling in, with me nearly prancing with happiness. Who's the best fisher-person ever? Me! As the line got closer, my fish looked less fishy then skinny and long and brown.

I caught a mother-fucking snake.

Ok, so it was actually a stick, but it looked very snake-y. So I responded like any sane person would. I screamed like a little girl and ran as far away from the thing as I could. Which wasn't too far. Because I was on a boat.

I did this twice. I caught two sticks and thought they were snakes twice. And screamed. Twice.

Because that's the way I roll.

No actual fish were caught on our fishing adventure and since we couldn't eat my stick-snakes, the whole adventure resulted in no down-home good cooking. But it was still fun, because tequila makes everything more fun. Yes? Yes.

My vacation is over now and I'm in Missoula. Of course, I'm sitting in a hotel room watching cable (no adult channels, though) on my big-ass California King bed. That's kind of vacation-y. I have an interview tomorrow and then I take off for another fun time in the South. Mississippi.

And then I have to go back to Pullman to move out of the ghetto. I only have to sleep one more time in the ghetto. How awesome is that? If you haven't seen my ghetto duplex with the carpet coming up and with dark wood paneling and with my classy neighbors, you cannot judge. We should all help me celebrate that that phase of my life is over in just a few days. Celebration, just FYI, means either presents for me or lots of drinking. Either way, you should be done reading so you can go purchase either a present or my booze.****

*Said margarita was made on the boat in a portable blender. Outside of the Brady Bunch variety hour, I have never seen anything that rocked so hard.

**Waiting for the pole to move? Fishing is fun and dirty all at once.

***Of which there are five. No one told me that Lake Coeur d'Alene is fish-less.

****I was serious. Presents, please.

Don't worry, baby

2007-06-20T18:20:00.000-07:00

Is anyone else pumped that today is Brian Wilson's 65th birthday? I'm guessing it's just me. And maybe some people in their 50s and 60s. It's hard to be as awesome as I am.

But, come on, Brian rocks. Not as hard as Elvis, but still. So maybe we should all take a moment of silence to honor the man who gave us "Fun, Fun, Fun," and "In My Room," and "Surfer Girl," and "God Only Knows." And maybe some of us can now justify going to Baskin Robbins for some ice cream. Because I owe it to one of the greatest song writers ever. And I'm just a giver.

Give, give, give.

Traveling intermission

2007-06-20T08:25:00.000-07:00

Trip one to the Dirty South is over and done. Kentucky was bo-ring. Actually, Kentucky was fine but my job down there was boring. Reading essays for eight hours a day is not quite as glamorous as it sounds.

So I'm back in Pullman for a day before taking off for the next week. Montana job interview and back down to the South. Mississippi this time. Unfortunately, I won't be able to go to the birthplace of Elvis this trip, since I'm on the opposite side of the state. I'm hoping, though, that the Elvis aura will be strong wherever I am.

Anyways, that is my excuse for the limited posting. Nothing truly exciting has been happening, so I don't think it matters. And I move next weekend, so no more fun stories about neighbors yelling non-stop. At least I hope so. That's the excitement of moving and meeting new neighbors. I don't think it can get worse, so that's something to look forward to.

Plus the fun of the actual move itself. I have already made two trips to Goodwill and thrown away numerous things, but, good Lord, I have a lot of crap. And by crap, I mean valuable, irreplaceable items. Who else owns a 1977 Elvis/Graceland Coca Cola memorial bottle? Or Lisa Lisa's debut album on vinyl? Or Red Dawn on VHS? It's tough to be so classy.

Rabbits and porn

2007-06-07T10:26:00.000-07:00

Wow. I forget how much fun it is to move. So much. So, so much.

I'm moving in a few weeks, but I'm out of town for most of the time between now and then, so everything is getting packed up now. The good thing about moving is that it makes you reevaluate stuff. And by stuff, I mean useless shit. And by reevaluate, I mean throw it away.

I did find some childhood items that I had kind of forgotten about. Only my sister will appreciate this, but I had a doll when I was a kid that might now be the uglies doll ever. When I was three or so, I decided she needed to have her hair cut and washed. So I chopped it off pretty short (super attractive) and then the washing portion for some reason matted it all up and made it stick straight up. I also broke one of her eyes in the process, so she has this crazy eye. Since I'm not superficial, I still loved this doll and took her everywhere.

The best part is, creative Little Ace named the doll Rabbit. Which is great fun, since those who know me are also aware of my intense fear of rabbits and all things hoppy.

So I was labelling boxes last night. Most of them were normal: DVDs, books, misc. kitchen, Elvis shrine, towels, sheets, etc. And then it occurred to me that I should just label a box "Porn." Just to see what my moving-assistant friends would do. Do you think they'd open it? Or just get awkward around me?

Like I'd ever be open about where I put my pron. People would steal it.

And by porn, I really mean books on Elvis. Because they're my porn.

Anyways, I'm cleaning out a lot of stuff, so if anyone has any desire for bad 80s movies on VHS, tacky Christmas dinnerware, or mismatched oven mitts, please to be calling me.

Cat burglar

2007-06-05T08:42:00.000-07:00

Guess which pet owner of the year has three (yes, 1, 2, 3) pictures of her cat?

I've owned the cat for nine years, and have three pictures. Do the math on that one. In my defense* I mean that I have three pictures that are just of the cat. I don't want one that's of the cat and me, or the cat and the dogs, or whatever. I have a few of those.

The Skirt is still missing, so I'm making little flyers to hang up around the neighborhood. And I need a picture. So I had to dig through photo albums last night. The most recent picture I have of her that is just of her is from 4 years ago. Luckily, she has aged well. Except for the fat skirt. Maybe I should have taken her in to get some glamour shots. She's nine, which is past middle-age for a cat. And we all know there's no better way to celebrate aging gracefully than getting some lovely, tacky glamour shots.

I do miss the cat, and I feel badly that she's still gone. These sad feelings, though, ease a bit whenever I think of not having to clean out the litter box. Is there a grosser thing to have in your house than a box where an animal has just popped a squat? Ew. Even though I clean mine twice a day, it still makes me want to vomit.

Ok, I have to work now, but please to be enjoying Stacy's list of things she'd never say. It provided me with two straight minutes of pure, unadulterated laughter on this rainy Tuesday morning.

*One of my friends pointed out that the phrase "In my defense" is one of my most common. Apparently, I'm always having to defend myself. As in: "In my defense, the store was having a clearance on Elvis-themed bath products." Or: "In my defense, the goddamn baby wouldn't stop crying and someone in the theatre had to instruct its mother on what God invented babysitters for." Or: "In my defense, there were only three cookies left and four people sitting there. Someone would have been left cookie-less even if I hadn't eaten all three of the cookies." Or: "In my defense, someone chose to put The Brady Bunch Variety Hour on DVD. I didn't want their hard work to go unnoticed, so I had to rent it and watch it four times."

Less than a year . . .

2007-06-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

June third is always so bitter-sweet. Just 364 more days, though . . .

My birthday was fan-frickin-tastic. I went for a hike, hoping to get some sun to disguise the fact that I'm the whitest white girl ever, and two people commented on my shorts and my legs. Good comments. Building my ego comments. So that was sweet. I then had a nice lunch, went shopping, and spent two hours at the coffee shop reading fiction. I don't work on my birthday. Especially a weekend birthday.

Then the party. Ah. The party. Barbecue, Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and, most importantly, my own pumpkin cheesecake. That I won't share with anyone, no matter how much I love you. Because (a) I'm selfish and (b) Maryanne is moving soon and this might be my last cheesecake for a while. Although she is staying at my house when she comes for a visit this August, and I think she should repay my hosting generosity with a cheesecake. Just a suggestion.

So thanks for all the gifts, nice people. Oddly enough, some of them were Elvis-themed. Actually, the truly odd part is that some were Elvis-free. I love gifts. And my birthday.

Today a few of us went to what I like to consider a breakfast-birthday-fun-continuation-thing, but I'm pretty sure was just a regular Sunday breakfast. On my way to the restaurant, I got a flat. And no one tell Gloria Steinem, but I called a guy to come a fix it for me. Because I'm the best feminist ever. In my defense, I know how to change a flat, but I was wearing heels and just had a manicure a few days ago.

While I was waiting for my tire-changer, a cute little old man walked by and offered to help. This offer lost some of its sincerity since it came with a comment on my shirt and my *ladies*. Okay, so the shirt dipped a bit low, but ew. Men in their seventies can't comment on that. And no one tell Jane Fonda, but had I not been able to call someone, I might have played up the shirt aspect. Who just set the women's movement back fifty years? I did. My feminism will always take second place to my OCD issues with getting dirty. Solidarity, sister.

And The Shrine will grow . . .

2007-06-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Eve to me! If we count Christmas Eve as part of the holiday, then the same rule applies to my birthday. And yes, I just equated the birth of our Lord and Savior to my own. The similarities are amazing. His mother's name was Mary; my mother's middle name was Marie. Pocatello, Idaho is often referred to as the Bethlehem of the West. I like chocolate; we commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus with chocolate eggs. Jesus walked on water; I've been known to go swimming. Jesus had twelve disciples; I have at least twelve friends. Maybe. Jesus turned water into wine; I prefer wine to water. And the perfection thing, but that's just a given.

So I better finish this post before God smites me.

I'm back in Pullman, and my cat is still missing. I'm not too worried still, since it took her a bit to return last time, too. I think she's afraid to come back, since the abusive ass-hat has moved back in next door to me. The Fat Skirt doesn't like yelling, and all he does is yell. Oh, and watch TV topless. Sex. Ay.

Birthday news: the birthday celebrations have already begun. I had my birthday dinner with my family the other night. More importantly (because I'm all about the materialistic attitude of America), I got my presents. In recognition of my early onset, my dad got me a PDA. So watch out for me being about as yuppie as I can get with that bad boy. In recognition of my love for Elvis, I got a very large purse with a pink Cadillac on it. This might fall into the same category as the Marilyn Monroe purse. And I'm still not a purse person. I also received season two of Scrubs, in recognition of my great love for what used to be the best show on TV, before it jumped the shark. And finally, in recognition, of my *obsession* I received two Elvis documentaries. Allegedly, they were from my 19-month old nephews, but I've been shopping with those two and I don't think they are capable of picking out DVDs. Food off of shelves, yes. Presents for their favorite aunt, no. So thanks to Heather and David for those, really.

And I doubt I'm their favorite aunt since a) they see me twice a year b) I left the toys I bought for them at my house and c) they are 19-months old and incapable of making that kind of decision. But once I start buying them beer, cigarettes, and Playboys, I'm sure I'm in. Guess who never will be asked to baby-sit after that comment?

Anyways, things in Pullman are, well, Pullman-esque. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone is gearing up for the big party tomorrow. Damn, I do love my birthday. I already scored a free lunch today from Maryanne in recognition of this somber holiday. And with the promise of vodka and cheesecake tomorrow, I don't think things could get much better. Unless someone has cloned Elvis from 1958. And gift-wrapped him for my birthday. And by gift-wrapped, I mean just one big bow. And I'm going to end that there, before I go too far across that crazy line.

Six days

2007-05-27T19:11:00.000-07:00

Is it a law that if you are a native-Montanan that 85% of your jokes revolve around something called Blue-Collar Comedy? I can't tell you how many times I heard the phrase, "Git'er done" in the last two weeks. I didn't get it at first, but then the kind locals filled me in.

So I'm done in Virginia City, for now. My two weeks there, redneck comedy aside, were freakin' great. Virginia City, for those who don't know, is a place in the middle of nowhere where time has been frozen since 1863. It's a Wild West town, complete with historic structures and whores on every corner. The whores part isn't true, but where would the Wild West be without gross exaggeration? But seriously, Virginia City is awesome. Picture the Grand Canyon episode of the Brady Bunch when the old geezer traps the in the jail in the ghost town and Mike saves everyone with his awesome boot-rope trick and the old geezer repents and maybe I need to watch TV from my generation. Anyways, picture that ghost town but with people and tourism and the best candy store ever.

Anyways, I enjoyed Virginia City (I love the Bradys and Elvis; I'm clearly the Queen of Kitsch). Enough so that I'll be living there for another three weeks later this summer to do some consultant work. Which is saying a great deal, since I won't have much internet access and absolutely no cell service (unless I'm willing to drive 8 miles out of town. Which I will).

So now I'm on vacation-ish for the next few days. I put in my qualifier since I still have work and deadlines, but I'm doing them (a) outside of Pullman and (b) sitting in front of a big-screen TV. Oh, I'm at my dad's. He has 5 billion channels to go with his big-screen. And since I have no willpower, I had to leave his house this morning and do my work at the coffee house, lest I was tempted to watch the Scrubs marathon that I DVR'ed. DVR'd? Whatever.

I'll be heading home later this week after completing a few more research trips and going to a job interview somewhere else in Montana. I feel semi-guilty about not going home earlier, since my cat has been missing the whole two weeks I've been gone. She doesn't like it when I leave, and once she saw the luggage, she took off. I'd be more worried, but she did this last summer for 5 weeks or so and came back once I got back into town.

But rest assured, Pullman people, I will most likely be home on my birthday. Which is in less than a week. There will be a get-together, so keep Saturday night free. Maryanne will be letting everyone know the details, but I'll give an overview now: presents are welcome. They won't make me feel awkward at all, so load me up. For those having trouble shopping, I like cash. And if you can't make the party, or I chose not to invite you, presents are still accepted. Hop to.

Commence the commencement

2007-05-12T07:03:00.000-07:00

First, congratulations to my sister, who graduates from law school today! Whoo-hoo! We will have a lawyer in the family, which might come in handy if anything illegal is done by someone while she is in Graceland this summer. Not that anyone would attempt to steal anything. Or do anything inappropriate while in the hallowed halls. But maybe I'll just keep Jen on speed dial.

So I'll be going to her graduation ceremony later today. And I actually love graduation ceremonies. I pretty much love any ceremony. I like productions. This will be my second graduation ceremony in two weeks (congrats, Sarah, by the by) and I'm okay with that. Maybe it's because I've been in school 80 years, but I really appreciate all the work that goes into graduating. And I kind of like the robes.

Anyways, I take off tomorrow for Montana. To do work/school stuff. I'll be gone from Pullman, the ghetto, and the Fat Skirt for three weeks. Ish. Or whenever I decide to come home. Of course, with my birthday just a mere three weeks away and the promise of my very own pumpkin cheesecake, safe money says I'll be back by June 2.

And people who are going with me to Montana, don't mock. I packed as lightly as I could. Yet there is still acres of stuff to be loaded into the car. In my defense, they told us to pack for all four seasons of weather, plus I have to take my own research and other work to do, bedding, towels, Elvis blow-up doll, clothes for the the week following Montana when I'm on the road, etc. One of those is a joke, but I won't tell you which. Let's just say that I won't have cell service or cable, so I have to be prepared.

Ok, I have to pay some bills, vacuum the house, and shower before heading off to begin the graduation day festivities. And by festivities, I mean food. Because, really, that's all I care about.

The Inner Dork

2007-05-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Cell phones, as it turn out, are expensive. Especially if you aren't signing a new contract and the cell companies don't want to give you huge deals as incentives to sign said new contracts. Which is my way of saying I have no new phone. Luckily, my phone was still under warranty and I get a replacement of the exact same model.

And it's nice to know that while warranties don't cover acts of God, they do cover my idiocy by dropping a phone in water. But couldn't that be argued to be an act of God? Since God is omnipotent, couldn't He have controlled where the phone went? He could have had it fall onto the floor, but it didn't. Therefore, God wanted it in the sink. Therefore, act of God. No, wait. Then I don't get covered under warranty. Pretty tricky, God.

So my new/replacement phone will be here soon-ish. Whenever I can be home when the Fed-Ex guy shows up. I have a loaner phone for now. And I hate it and its stupid ring tones. No one wants to hear the Can-Can. Which is this phone's best option. But probably people don't want to hear Europe's "The Final Countdown" when I have my regular phone.

Moving on.

Last night, a group of us went for drinks and dinner as the final "Girls' Night" of 2006-2007. We're all leaving in the next few weeks, so this was our last shot. And really the emphasis should be on the drinks portion, and not so much the dinner. I won't get into all the details, but at one point we we're reminiscing about our childhoods and the wonder that is Vacation Bible School. VBS, for those in the know. We might have sang some of the songs. And I might still remember all the actions to accompany "This Little Light of Mine" and "I Just Thank You, Father, For Making Me Me." Wow, God is all front and center in this post. Go, God.

Next, we went for ice cream. Which we ate in the car outside of Zip's. I'm not really sure why, but I'm fairly certain it was my idea. At one point, Maryanne thought two guys were going to throw down in the parking lot. As it turns out, they were discussing purebred dogs. When they were comparing their bitches, they were referring to their dogs, not their "Bitches." Good times.

And Zip's might need to have someone proofread their cups. These cups announce that Zip's has been around "Since 53'" when probably they meant "Since '53." Unless they didn't meant 1953 so much as 53 feet. Or maybe that's some awesome slang that I'm not in on. Damn you Pullman, for isolating me and reducing my cool level. Can I blame Pullman for that? There might be a longer history there, starting with my six inch thick glasses that I got when I was 7, my love for the Brady Bunch, and the fact that I give high fives. Sigh. Bet you all wish you could roll with me.

Sounds like a bluetooth to me

2007-05-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

Guess what I get to do today? Buy a new cell phone!

Apparently, if you get too excited after The Sopranos, and don't watch what you are doing, you might accidentally drop your cell into a sink full of water. And phones don't always like that.

Mine is broken.

But the glass half full outlook is: new phone for Ace! So don't call me until around noon today, because I won't have a phone until my lunch break. Damn, I hope all of my ringtones transfer over, because I'd hate to have to download all new ones. I really enjoy when "Copacabana" warns me that my work is calling. And my students sure get pumped when I forget to turn my phone to silent and "Going the Distance" comes thundering out of my bag. It just happened once. Oops.

So I guess a new phone will be my birthday present to myself. My birthday is in less than four weeks, so it's nice that the presents are starting to come rolling in. And for those of you invited to the party, Maryanne says that this year I get my own pumpkin cheesecake that I don't have to share with anyone. At all.

Speak up, sonny!

2007-05-04T08:04:00.000-07:00

I enjoy crossword puzzles to an inordinate degree.

I can only have decaf after 10 am, or I'm kept up too late.

I go to Elvis Tribute concerts.

I think Early Bird specials are rewards for eating at a "normal" time.

I OWN a cane. Own.

But the biggest reason I am an 88 year-old woman trapped in the body of a 27 year-old: I had to tape ALL of Must See TV last night, because it was on too late.

That's right. The Office, My Name is Earl, and Scrubs are sitting on a VHS tape (oh, add that to my AARP membership that I still have to tape things on my VCR) at my house because 8 pm is clearly too much for little blue-haired Ace.

I was in bed while the sun was still semi-up. Even my cat found me creepy, and refused to come to bed when I turned in. And I say "turned in." Jesus help me. There is a walker somewhere with my name on it.

We can't all be winners. Just me.

2007-05-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have super exciting news! Hold on to your hats, because you are all about to be blown away. I have just received word that I am a Yahoo winner!

I won something!

And I feel that it is (a) totally justified, since I am a winner and (b) totally legit, since the winning notification was incredibly vague, sent by email, and tossed into my junk mail file.

Usually I just delete this file every 20 minutes or so once it fills up with 250 junk emails, but today, I actually opened it up. And found out that I am a winner! How many other winning emails have I neglected because I assumed if it was junk mail it was, well, junk?

Ok, and what's up with all my junk email being dated in the future? For example, I have an email that was allegedly sent on Monday, January 18, 2038 at 6:31 pm. This was actually my winning notification email. I'm getting messages from the future now. Awe. Some. Hey, it just occurred to me that maybe I'm not a winner until 2038. Damn.

So I was checking my junk mail file for a good reason. I had to register to vote on best blogs. You should all go vote for Stacy's site for best photography blog. You have to register, though, and they send you a confirmation which goes straight to junk mail. Which is why I had to look in that file.

After voting for Stacy, you should then go through her photos and find presents for me. I love the tulips photo, any of the Golden Gate bridge photos, and the forest trail. And my birthday is coming up. In case I forgot to mention that.

Whatt kind of moroon leafes in tpyos?

2007-05-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

So I was just re-reading some old posts (because that seemed like a better use of my time than grading the mounds of finals on my desk) and noted a discrepancy.

And by discrepancy, I mean issue.

I neglected to run spell-check a few posts ago. So my hil-arious mockery of Alec Baldwin's voice-mail looked like a drunken five year-old typed it up. And while I should take the blame for this, I choose instead to pass it on to you, the reader.

Please to be alerting me when there are issues. I cannot be held responsible for my actions. I teach U.S. history, I know how this goes. It's a little thing called passing the buck. Consider that buck passed. Really, readers, what can I say? You disappoint me.

Speaking of disappointments, I thought today was Thursday. It's Wednesday. Damn.

Oh, and I've already changed my mind. Welcome to the wonderful world of Ace. I don't actually want to be notified if I've made any mistakes. Because that will shatter my view that I never make mistakes. See how that works?

Hey, one month until my birthday! How early is too early to post the present list? I'm probably good to go by typing it up now, considering I've been doing a birthday countdown since June 3. Maybe I'll put that up tomorrow. I know, you can hardly wait! FYI, I accept early presents. And cash always makes a fine gift.

May Celebrations

2007-05-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

Happy May 1st! Today would have been Elvis and Priscilla's 40th anniversary. If they hadn't gotten a divorce (who would leave Elvis?). And if he hadn't "died."

So happy semi-anniversary to them.

Today also marks one month and one day to my birthday. Just another odd parallel in my life and the life of The King. Weird, isn't it?

Is Paulie Walnuts the funniest name ever? Uh, just me?

2007-04-30T08:11:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe that it is the last day of April. And I missed my step-mother's birthday yesterday. I thought today was the 29th. Oops. Awkward phone call later.

Anyways, April just blew by. It's really getting spring-y outside. And I don't mean spring-y bouncy, but spring-y nice flowers and green lawns. April showers bring May flowers. And what do May flowers bring?

Happiness to Ace. I like tulips. Hop to.

Speaking of things that I like, isn't it also amazing that my birthday is just a little over a month away? How time flies. If you need gift ideas, let me know. Also, if you would like the celebrations to begin early, I'm okay with that.

Speaking of celebrations, did anyone see The Sopranos last night? AJ got engaged! To someone way out of his league! And the engagement was called off five minutes later! And apparently the writing has gone downhill! Tony's gambling problem was a little too Lifetime television for women for me. Last night's episode was a bit of a snoozer.

Of course, I was a bit over-excited anyways. As could be gathered from me yelling at the TV. In my defense, I hadn't eaten much since breakfast and a Lean Cuisine isn't really filling. Nor is it really cuisine. So to spice it up, I decided to finish off half a bottle of wine. Again, without having eaten much. I might have been a bit tipsy. But I figured that was ok, since it is the Sopranos. I'm sure my neighbors enjoyed my self-righteous indignation over Tony's tantrum.

Oh, and I'm wearing jeans today. This fascinating piece of news is relevant, just FYI. The weather is beautiful, and I would prefer to be wearing a skirt, but I learned the hard way that drinking and walking around in the great outdoors don't mix. So my ankle is still wrapped. Thus the jeans to hide this. So I don't have to explain my idiocy to my students. I already accidentally might have compared my struggles with my neighbor's Christmas tree in my yard to segregation and racism in the South in the 1950s. Oops. So they don't need to see that not only am I inappropriate, but also a moron who doesn't know how to walk.

Hmm. I really don't have a drinking problem, although this post might convince you otherwise. Yeah, so, uh, we'll just leave that there for now. Happy Monday!

Father Knows Best

2007-04-25T07:51:00.000-07:00

A bee flew into my hair yesterday. Just flew. Flew into my hair. It didn't sting me, or anything. It just flew in and flew away. And it's not like I have big Texas hair or Priscilla Presley (cerca 1967) hair. So I found that odd.

The only reason I comment on this is because I read a news story yesterday that bees are disappearing by the billions. Scientists are at a loss to explain this. I'm thinking it's because bees are just that dumb that they fly into hair instead of finding a nice flower or hive.

My other favorite story from recently is the Alec Baldwin thing. While I haven't been a big fan of 30 Rock, because it sucks (thank you Tina Fey, who cannot act) I'm pretty sure I'll be watching it now. Because Alec Baldwin cracked me up before what with all his comments on bi-curious shoes and stuff.

And a man who is clever enough to leave an abusive voice-mail for an 11-year old, well that's just Must See TV. Best quotes:

"You don't have the brains or the decency as a human being." (I wonder why she is screwed up, since her parent's divorce was so amicable, and they both seem like well-adjusted people.)

"I don't give a damn that you're 12 years old, or 11 years old, or that you're a child, or that your mother is a thoughtless pain in the ass who doesn't care about what you do as far as I'm concerned. You have humiliated me for the last time with this phone." (First, learn how old she is. Second, I like the image of her humiliating her with the phone. I realize what he meant, but I picture her giving him some inappropriate ring-tone, like "Dancing Queen" or "I Touch Myself" and the phone rings while he is giving an interview on the red carpet.)

And of course, where he calls her a "rude, thoughtless little pig" (Hi, kettle. I feel that you are just a bit black. Talk to you later. Love, pot.) Followed by his cleverly subtle threat to fly from New York to Los Angeles "to straighten your ass out when I see you." As Nazareth reminds us, though, love hurts. Love scars. Love wounds. And mars.

It's a tough lesson for anyone to learn. Especially an 11-year old. Especially from her father. Especially for committing the sin of turning her phone off. Well done, Mr. Baldwin.

A damn fine cup of coffee

2007-04-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

Ok, quick recap of Santa Fe. Shockingly, the topic of Newsies did not come up. Sigh. I had to keep my love of Spot to myself. If you haven't seen that movie, (a) please don't judge me and (b) Spot is the bad-ass newsie from Brooklyn. Not some pansy dog.

Uh, so Santa Fe. Fun times. Good contacts. Got some good gossip from a colleague and former grad student of my school on some recent ethical lapses and past behaviors. A possible job opportunity. Delicious food. A hard-learned lesson that tequila at 7000+ feet above sea level is not equivalent to the usual dosages I enjoy back home.

This weekend I went to Tacoma, the ugly, red-headed step-child of Seattle. Perhaps I shouldn't actually mock it since it had a great downtown with some good historic preservation and (more importantly) delicious restaurants. Learned some gossip on goings-on at a state historical society that is going to be having some issues soon. Conferences are just full of Chatty Cathys.

So since I've been in and out of town, I have yet again let this site fall behind. I wold have posted earlier today, but I have three major deadlines this week for work. And probably watching Season Two of Twin Peaks while working on a chapter for the dissertation wasn't the best of ideas. Lord knows what kind of David Lynch-inspired weirdness found its way in. If in my overview of the Dawes Act I find a mention of Leo needing new boots, we'll know who to blame. Damn you, Netflix.

So traveling has been good for the last few weeks, if only for the reason that I can escape the non-stop screaming of my neighbors. Which means I can actually sleep instead of listening to a yelling match over who has ruined whose life. Funny, they never include my life and lack of sleep in that particular fight.

If I came there would you let me call you home?

2007-04-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

Do other people trick their animals? This most recent trick wasn't mean, just to let you know. For that we'd have to dig deep into my past to what I like to call the "sock incident." And by deep in my past, I mean a year or so ago. And by incident, I mean when someone convinced me it would be hysterical to put a sock over my dog's head and then call her to see how well she adapted to her new blindness. In case you're interested, the correct answer to how hysterical it was: freaking. Freaking hysterical.

Back to the most recent. My cat does not enjoy it when I go out of town. I'd probably be more sympathetic to this if I didn't live in Pullman and have to leave whenever possible. And by have to, I literally mean that. Pullman slowly kills people. Or something less melodramatic.

Anyways, when my cat sees me packing, she gets a bit sad. And a bit creepy. And a bit loud. No animal howls like mine when she is less than pleased. So I have to resort to tricking her. Meaning, for my trip tomorrow, I had to get my suitcase out yesterday. After eying the bag with suspicion all day yesterday, she figured out that it was just for show. Clearly, since I wasn't putting anything into it.

When she goes outside later today, I'll quickly pack. Yes, I spend time thinking of these things. This is how I occupy time.

I take off for New Mexico tomorrow morning. I'd be more excited since I'm going to Santa Fe, but the professor I'm going with probably won't get any of my Santa Fe-themed Newsies jokes. Of which there will be a lot. But who knows? Maybe he will get them, and we can bond over our shared love of Jack. Actually, that might creep me out to levels unthinkable. Maybe I'll just have to learn to not to make my super-funny references to one of the best movies of all time. I should be on good behavior anyways, considering I'm an am-bastard of my department. I have $20 that says very few of you get why that is so funny. But it is. It really, really is.

So, Santa Fe. What are the odds I'll get some sun? Slim to none, since I have to be inside most of the time during the day. Maybe I should pack my clubs just in case I can escape for the conference. Tigress Woods goes to the Southwest type of thing. Oh, and I'm allergic to jalapenos, but I'm guessing that won't stop me from partaking of the delicious local cuisine. I do so loves me some spicy food. How quickly do we all think I'll get sick when I "forget" that they make me sick and convince myself that just a bite won't hurt me? Or two? Or three? Or that if maybe I mix some jalapenos with some margaritas, the two will cancel each other out?

Hmm. Maybe in lieu of the golf clubs I should pack some Pepto.

So the razor, but not the shampoo?

2007-04-10T06:18:00.000-07:00

So I had a discussion yesterday on what exactly I can and cannot carry onto a flight. I couldn't remember if I was allowed to bring my nice big bottle of saline solution or if I was going to need to go buy a smaller thing of it. This story is off to a kick-ass start, am I right?

I went online to check to see how small (or big, for the Pollyanna's out there) any of my little travel things can be. Three ounces, just FYI. How big is that, by the way? Damn, and it's ounces, too, so I can't make my snide comment on how the dumb Europeans mess everything up with their stupid metric system. Ounces are all us, and I really can't picture 3 liquid ounces. Hmm.

Anyways, then I got to thinking if my liquid foundation counts. Because according to its packaging, it's four ounces. Do you think I'll get bumped for taking an extra ounce of my Clinique foundation with SPF 15? Wow. This isn't where this post was going. I was going to mock the TSA website for this their nice little summary on why specific items are banned or limited in carry-ons:

The ban on liquids, aerosols and gels was implemented on August 10 after a terrorist plot was foiled. Since then, experts from around the government, including the FBI and our national labs have analyzed the information we now have and have conducted extensive explosives testing to get a better understanding of this specific threat.

Favorite part? Besides the horrible passive voice in sentence one, how much do we love "After a terrorist plot was foiled"? Foiled? As in thwarted? As in, "I'll get you, Batman, if it's the last thing I do!" Could the TSA have come up with something besides a cliche from the 1950s? Is Mugsy running the TSA with Maxwell Smart heading up the x-ray check-points to dash the clever ruse of those evil terrorists? Ah, foiled by the old bomb-in-the-3.5-ounce-mouthwash-trick again. The swan swims at midnight, but Peter finds a friend in the old barn by the river.

I also enjoy the "experts from around the government, including the FBI." I prefer to think that it's just the "experts" from the USDA or the USPS. Actually, the post office people probably are experts. And how much fun would it be to conduct "extensive explosives testing"? No? Just me? I think I'm a bad-ass when I get a sparkler on the Fourth of July, so I'm guessing I would be in seventh heaven if I got to conduct "extensive explosives testing."

If I make a joke about "extensive explosives testing" at the airport, how delayed do you think I'll be? I'm guessing just enough to miss Scrubs, but not enough to get the "fun" search. Any takers?

The only good bunny is a chocolate bunny

2007-04-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

Happy late Easter!

I've decided to make Easter resolutions. I said goodbye to my New Year's resolutions a long time ago ('round about January 2), so it's time for some new ones. And Easter is all about new life, starting over, and chocolate, so what better time?

I've resolved to limit my pitchy-ness to once per day. For those who don't know, I apparently get "pitchy" when I get stressed. Meaning, my voice gets high and strained. And I have a bit of stress in my life, so my voice is often high and strained. So no more.

Which leads to resolution number two: not to let the stress get to me. Too much. I will be leaving work at work, and not thinking about it after 5 or 6 pm, and only working one weekend day. And, apparently, I am not to "stress the small stuff." I think the real quote is "sweat the small stuff," but I don't like that. Sweat is blech-y.

Resolution three: Not to let one aspect of my life carry over to the others. This harkens back to good old resolution number two. Work is for work. Home is for not-work. Friends and others don't need to hear about work. Home, unfortunately, is also for listening to neighbors scream at each other and leave trash on the yard. But, hey, I'm all mellow and stuff now after following resolutions one and two, so it doesn't bother me. I'm trying.

That's it. I'll work on those. Luckily, I don't have too many flaws, so I don't need too many resolutions.

Want to hear my Easter miracle? I won money on a slot machine. Some of us celebrated the holy day by going to a casino (just for brunch) and I won some money. Okay, so I only won $4.60, but that's a box of Girl Scout Cookies. Which I could have used while watching the Masters Tournament. I cheered for Tiger, if only because he shares a name with my over-weight cat. They were both a disappointment this weekend.

Once back into Pullman (man, I really love to leave Pullman--see how much happier I am?), I rounded out my weekend (which was excellent in general) by watching The Sopranos. And Bobby couldn't have really kicked the shit out of Tony. We all know that.

Dressed for success

2007-04-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

Odd comment from Laura: "Wow, this hospital is pretty nice. It's got good natural light and is quiet. I could study here."

Laura, for the record, wasn't the patient. I really hope she wasn't serious about studying at the hospital, because I would never see her. I have issues with hospitals. I'm hoping she was joking.

We were at the hospital visiting a friend whose appendix burst. Burst! On her spring break! How hard does that suck? I'm guessing pretty hard. Although, she did inform me that she gets to keep the hospital gown, and that's a pretty sweet score. Feel better, Shae.

In other Pullman news, Maryanne and I saw a dog dressed up the other day. Ok, while I enjoyed little Rocky's sweatshirt last week (see below post) and occasionally little Belle-vis had to wear a sweater in the winter (it was cold and she had no hair), I really don't appreciate animals dressed up. And by dressed up, I mean in outfits. And this dog (and it was a bigger dog, nothing precious like a Pomeranian or Chihuahua, so I'm guessing it was mortified) had on a shirt (SHIRT! And it looked like a button-up, dress shirt), a hat (like a yacht hat) and, dear Jesus save us all, a flowered lei. A lei.

After snickering about the dog getting "lei-d" I was just embarrassed for it. A maybe a tad bit envious that the dog was more fancy than I was. Please insert your own joke here about the last time I got lei-d.

Hey, speaking of creepy jokes, so I had to present yesterday on this project I did last year. It was about national parks. On the way to the presentation, I was talking about spicing up my talk with references to Elvis (because the ties between parks and Elvis are so clear, such as: they are both national treasures, they are a huge part of our nation's history, and they are both hot. Wait, that's just Elvis.). Maryanne made the huge mistake of saying she didn't think I could do it, and challenge accepted.

I stopped myself with three very subtle references to Elvis (and by subtle, I mean painfully blatant and semi-awkward for the audience). I could have done more, but I reined myself in. That was my controlling the crazy, for those who were there.

Okay, I need to work now. Interestingly enough, I am working on my Elvis lecture for next week's class. I have embraced the crazy.

Seriously, do these things happen to others?

2007-04-03T13:53:00.000-07:00

Funny story from a few weeks ago. And by funny, I mean disturbing. And something that would only happen to me.

I was watching TV (and Scrubs really needs to stop sucking and pretending it's Grey's Anatomy--we don't need the "life lessons." I don't enjoy them on Grey's Anatomy--which is horrible, yet I kind of like it--and I don't enjoy them just because Dr. Cox is learning them with me) and I received a phone call. Background: Belle is my dog that died last summer, put to sleep by the WSU vet center.

And with a set-up like that, how could this story disappoint?

Phone: Ring, ring (actually "Pop! Goes My Heart!")
Me: This is Ace.
Person: Is this Ace?
Me: . . . Yes.
Person: Hi, Ace, this is Matt from the WSU vet center. We were calling to see how Belle is doing and how you would say we did in our treatment of her.
Me: Uh, she's dead. The vet center is actually where she was put to sleep. So I'd say she's peaceful* and your treatment, clearly not the best.
Matt: . . .
Me: To be fair, I guess it was pretty good until the whole "There's nothing more we can do" portion.
Matt: . . . Uh, yes . . . Uh, oh here, I see that in your records here a few lines down. (Awkward laugh) Guess I should have read that first.
Me: . . .
Matt: Uh, so overall, though, okay?
Me: Sure. Do you need something Matt?
Matt: Well, the WSU vet center works hard to provide wonderful care facilities for your pet--
Me: But she's dead.
Matt: (totally undeterred) And at a low cost. To do this, we rely on donations.
Me: This is a fund-raising call?
Matt: Uh, yes.
Me: You called me at 8:25 at night, remind me of your failure to fix my dog** and then hit me up for cash?
Matt: Yes. Again, I apologize for the earlier incident.
Me: (Racking my brain to remind myself if he had apologized, and then concluding he considered his awkward laugh a good enough version of an apology) Hey, ass-hat, by earlier incident do you mean my dog's death or your retardation failing to read through my file and reminding me of her death? (Ok, so that was inner-monologue)
Matt: Typically, we ask for $250.
Me: !!!
Matt: WSU vet center is--
Me: Does my file also show I'm a grad student? Does it show that technically I live below the poverty line?***
Matt: Oh yes, here it is. . . A graduate student. So what can you give?
Me: I could give your boss a call and tell him that Captain Cock-sicle made the worst fundraising phone call ever.

Ok, my actual answer was, "I could give $25," but I really wanted to say the other thing.

It was a fairly traumatic call. Luckily, I had a witness. Laura heard most of it, because I cranked up the volume on my phone. Of course, my righteous indignation might have appeared less righteous and more giggly, because I was so stunned by the whole thing that I kept laughing.

So that was fun. And then Laverne went into a coma. Not the best Thursday night ever.

*I believe, and not just because a cartoon says so, that all dogs go to heaven.
** Okay, so I might have been a bit unfair here. They did do everything they could, but come on.
***I'm hoping it doesn't show my credit card bill or mention my proclivity for buying things I can't afford.

Going the Distance

2007-04-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

Wow, my poor little blog is slowly dying. So sad. I've been a bit busy, and sadly this is not a top priority.

But I'm currently waiting for someone to call back, and I'm at a bit of a standstill on a specific project until the phone rings (and I don't want to work on my other projects until this gets done later today), so I can kill some time here. I have TWO stories/posts for today, so there. Two, because I don't want to toss them together.

What have I been up to? After coming home from D.C., I remained in Pullman for a few days before a hectic road trip. I needed some archival info from the University of Utah, so I hopped in my car, and quickly completed this research. My time was severely limited, so my apologies to people in Pocatello and Utah that I had about five minutes to visit.

Since getting back, I've been working. I did love taking a long celebratory lunch a few weeks ago after finishing a major project. Thai food tastes so much better when the stress level is severely decreased. And I need to remember, when telling friends that it is time for a celebration lunch, to be clear I mean "celebrating" and not "Sella-brating" lest they go to the wrong spot. My bad. And that's for you, Castaspella.

Last week I also met a little black pug named Rocky. He was wearing a sweatshirt, which I found adorable because I pictured him triumphantly running up stairs. And when I told him his whole life was a million to one shot, I got crickets from Laura, from his owners, and from the cashier ringing up my pita. Not my audience, clearly.

But now I want a pug to play with my future/imaginary long-haired chihuahua. So all of you need to constantly and consistently remind me of the fact that I am the worst pet owner ever. Except for maybe those owners who dress their dogs in outfits that match their own. And those who name large dogs Tiny and small dogs Max. Ass-hats.

Color me content

2007-03-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

Spring is officially here. My clocks have all sprung ahead, days are longer, and the studded tires are off my car. These are all good signs, but we all know what the number one sign is that it's spring.

I'll give you a hint: Thin Mints.

That's right. The girls are back, peddling their wares.

I love Girl Scout Cookies. And since I feel that my money is going to a good cause (what do Girl Scouts do? I actually don't know, nor do I care, as long as my Samoas keep a'comin'), I feel perfectly justified in buying multiple boxes.

This morning for breakfast, I had scrambled eggs and three Thin Mints. And I was so happy. Probably won't be as happy tomorrow when I feel that I need to add another mile to my jog to counteract the devilish cookies, but I say live in the now. And it's Girl Scout Cookie time now.

My All-O'Mear-ican Adventure

2007-03-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm not dead. Not that any of you were probably thinking that I was dead, but you never know. I've just been busy. In the future, if you think I need to be posting more regularly (because we all like to be regular), I respond well to cash incentives. Just saying.

I think I'll quickly recap my trip to O'Meara's and then maybe later this weekend or next week I can get all caught up everywhere.

So O'Meara's isn't so much in D.C. as it is way the hell out there. Which means Metro doesn't do it. You have to catch a train. Which I did. And check with the conductor on return times. Which I also did. And actually listen to what he says. Which I didn't.

I blame the excitement of going to O'Meara's. Or my five-second memory. Or my borderline retardation.* Luckily, while at O'Meara's I had no clue of the trouble it was going to take to get back to College Park. So I enjoyed my lunch worry-free.

Good enough food. Excellent drinks. Decor, whatever. Saved by the gi-normous picture of Don. After eating, I purchased my souvenirs, bid farewell to probably my best chance of seeing Don, and headed back to the train station. I meandered through downtown Manassas, went into some stores, and thought about how the North totally kicked the South's ass. Sorry, you dirty rebs.

Then I waited at the train station for 45 minutes, before some guy informed my that on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, the Virginia Railway Express doesn't go back to D.C. after 3:15. It was Monday at 4:50. Do the math.

A cab to the nearest Metro would have been about $50, so this nice New Jersey-come-Southerner (whose name I can't remember, surprise, so I'll call him Rhett Soprano) offered to drive me. Remember how your parents always said don't accept rides from strangers? Great advice. Until you are stuck in Virgina with the looming possibility of paying a $50 cab fare.

So I hopped right into his car. No one tell my father. Rhett Soprano then drove me the 40 minutes to the Metro. How nice is that? Clearly, Father does not always know best. Hey, does that mean that I can start taking candy from strangers? I already take it from babies. It's pretty easy.

So that was my Don and Mike adventure. And since I forgot the coaster I had promised someone, some people might call this adventure a "disappointment." Something they probably won't repeat if they are currently enjoying their O'Meara's pint glass.

Sorry, we're out of time!

*Which, yes, is offensive. Welcome to my site and my world.

There's no place like the ghetto

2007-03-11T07:34:00.000-07:00

D.C. Our nation's capital. Home of tall monuments, good restaurants, numerous museums, Don and Mike, and political naughtiness like there's no tomorrow. And two of the juicier naughtiness--Scooter's verdict and army hospital sanitary measures that make Christmas trees on my front lawn seem kind of okay--went down while I was there. And I'm proud to be an American. Oh, D.C.

Ok, so I researched. Crazy-exciting. Fill in the rest yourselves so I can move on to . . .

Ace's touristy escapades in the District. Hit the mall to see the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Vietnam Memorial, and the Korean War Memorial (which is so creepy, by the way. I don't know why I go see it, since I always have nightmares about the larger-than-life soldier statutes coming alive and killing me). FYI, the reflecting pool, not so much reflecting as it was empty. So really just a long concrete ditch. Disappointing.

And I had to see the WWII Memorial, since that was new since my last visit. I was loathe to do so, because of its connection with Holier-Than-Thou Tom Hanks, but saw it I did. It was alright.

Then I went to the museums. The National Gallery is always of favorite of mine, even though it makes me feel that my stick figure drawings are less than beautiful. Apparently, my talents do not extend to drawing. Just ask Laura. She gets at least one drawing a day, telling her I'm hungry or I need coffee or I'm bored or all of the above.

Let's see. The American Indian Museum is excellent and Air and Space is always a winner. The Portrait Gallery might be my new favorite, if only for the portrait of Elvis. The Holocaust Memorial Museum is a must-see, but, shockingly, it is a bit of a downer. Waterproof mascara recommended for the ladies. And, so I don't look sexist, for some of the men.*

I'll post on my O'Meara's adventure later, but let me just mention two highlights from the overall trip. Number one, when flying home yesterday, I saw an Elvis Tribute Artis at O'Hare. Suh-weet. Number two, my hotel neighbors for the last two nights were newlyweds. On the bright side, they save me some cash on pay-per-view. Kidding.

I was pretty ready to be home. My cat was happy to see me. I wasn't sure if she would recognize me, and I was wondering if I was obligated to keep her if she didn't. But she did, so moot point. I did miss her, though. And it was nice to be greeted so happily by here when I walked through the door.

I'm deciding if I'm going on another road trip later this week. How sad is it that I'm basing my ultimate decision on how mad I think my cat will be if I take off again?

Welcome home, Ace.

*For the record, Robert Smith is the only man who can really get away with make-up. And we all know it.

Just desserts

2007-03-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

I'm too tired to type today. Let's just say I had a bit of an adventure using local transportation to get to a certain radio personality's pub and had to rely on the kindness of a stranger. More on that later.

For now, I'll just say that Mississippi mud pie is delicious and I am the proud owner of an O'Meara's pint glass. For now.

Early Bird specials

2007-03-01T18:33:00.000-08:00

All right. A week in D.C. (read: a week not in Pullman) quickly erases bad traveling memories. So people who think I'm being punished for my Blue Hawaii Tour 2007 are wrong.

Ok, I've worked every day until 5, but I have had great fun at downtown bars and restaurants. Except when bartenders, hosts, waiters, and every-goddamn-body-else calls me "Ma'am." I hate the South. And don't give me the Southern hospitality speech to justify people making me feel 80. It's not hospitality if it makes me die a little inside.

And if I wanted to feel 80, I could just remind myself of what time I go to bed, what time I get up, how much I enjoy crossword puzzles, and how I didn't know what an Mp3 player was until a few weeks ago.

Uh . . .

But D.C. is fun. That was going to be the point here.

Take a deep breath . . .

2007-02-27T18:02:00.000-08:00

So I'm in D.C. And after almost two days of mentally cursing at my computer (I was too afraid to do this out loud, lest it hear and decide that I should be royally fucked over), it is now working. But it has left me bitter. And my hatred of technology (but really, when I say technology, I mean my ass-hat of a computer) has increased substantially.

Ok, quick recap before this bitch dies (and I"m referring to the computer). I spent Sunday in the Seattle airport. And by Sunday, I mean all mother-fucking day. 9 am to midnight.

Sea-Tac, just FYI, pretty much sucks ass.

But I got a lot of work done on some projects, and I effectively used my time. And then Lynette and I got drunk-ish on someone else's tab. So actually Sea-Tac, not so bad.

We got into D.C. at 8 or so Monday morning (estimated time of originally scheduled arrival: 4 pm Sunday--thank you blizzard in Chicago), showered, and headed off to the Archives to work for a few hours. Unfortunately, since we had had maybe 6 hours of sleep since Saturday, our working time was probably not very productive.

Solution? Hitting a bar in downtown.

Judge not, lest ye be bitch-slapped by travel delays. We earned our happy hour.

And then we went back to the hotel and slept for about 12 hours. And it was pretty sweet.

Tomorrow my stalking of Don Geronimo shall begin. And by begin, I mean continue. And by stalking, I mean listening to his show in the same timezone that he's in.

Bald Britney and Scenic Hawaii: The Beauty of Ace's World

2007-02-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

Ah, three-day weekends. I have accomplished 90% of the work I needed to and I still have tomorrow. So score for me. Unfortunately, my productively translates into few fun stories. I saw a movie yesterday, but it was pretty boring. The highlight of it was when the man in front of me laughed like a little girl, which in turn set me off into a giggling fit. Which might have been ok, except that it was a sad movie. Some young girl had just died, and I was attempting to curb my laughter. I'm a treat to take into public.

Anyways, since I have few fun stories (except did we all see that Britney Spears, in her ongoing journey into Crazyland with stops at Narcoticstown and Whoreville, has just shaved her head?), please to be enjoying the following pictures.

This is a Japanese meditation garden. The beauty of it isn't even negated by my lack of photography skills.

This is a waterfall I hiked up to. In the 70 degree weather.

Seriously. A rainforest. I was in a rainforest.

This is why I didn't go swimming in the ocean while there. The coast was a bit rocky. Oh, and sharks live in the ocean. And sharks eat people.

I hate that vacations have to end. Sigh. The sunset in Pullman is not quite as arresting. Sigh. Luckily, I'm leaving again soon.

Ebay Adventures

2007-02-15T12:26:00.000-08:00

Sigh. Stupid computer. Stupid internet.

I had a bid on a specific item on Ebay and I didn't win because my wireless connection wasn't working. So some guy outbid me. And I'm sad. Although, maybe that was God's way of telling me that I didn't need a Tiki carved to look like Elvis.

No, that can't be it. How could God not want me to have that item? It was awesome.

And by awesome, I mean horrendously tacky. In fact, Laura referred to it as, and I quote, "The tackiest thing I've ever seen." Awesome.

At the very least it was unique. Luckily, I did win some film cells from the fantastic movie Blue Hawaii. So that's something.

Don't judge me.

No massacres today, thank you

2007-02-14T07:58:00.000-08:00

So happy pseudo-holiday, everyone. My policy is, if I have to work, it's not a real holiday. The only exception to this rule is, of course, my birthday. For some reason, banks and government offices are still open on my birthday, but we all know it is a real holiday. In the Land of Ace.

Anyways, it's going to be a busy week, so I'm kind of glad for this *holiday* if only for the chocolate that seems to accompany it. Since really I have nothing to report or comment on, I'll just refer everyone to Brian's site and his laws for men.

Oh, and quickly: the Christmas tree situation is not resolved. The tree is up by the dumpster, but the trash-collectors won't pick it up because "the Christmas tree disposal season is over." Shocking, really, considering it is the middle of February.

Enjoy the day. And the candy. And heart-shaped cookies.

My Own Private Oliver

2007-02-12T13:19:00.000-08:00

I spent four full days in Hawaii, and I have no tan to show for it. But I do have lots of pictures, which, just to warn people, you will all be seeing if you stop by my office. Willingly or not, the Hawaiian slide-show will be playing.

Ok, so Hawaii, for those of you who don’t know, kicks ass by the truckload. The temperatures were in the 70s and 80s while I was there. It was great. Short-sleeved shirts in February? Yes please.

I didn’t spend too much time outdoors, since I was technically there to work, but I did get to take some amazing hikes through Hawaii Volcano National Park. I went through rainforests, across a lava bed, along the shoreline, etc. It was awesome! One night, I made a three-mile hike to the ocean’s edge to watch the lava flowing into the ocean. And I was paid to go there! I love my job. I also got to see a waterfall and walk through a cooled lava tube.

This seems really disorganized. Let’s break it down by day, shall we? Yes, we shall, since it is my blog.

Day One: Technically began in Pullman. I left for the airport Sunday evening after watching the Super Bowl (read: gorged on less-than-healthy food, mocked Prince’s semi-erotic halftime show with his phallic guitar, and yelled out things about how much I love Peyton Manning). I slept at the airport because my flight was at 5 am and I had to check in by 3:30, and I live 75 minutes from there. My friends say I’m a heavy sleeper, and I think I proved this at their airport.

Day Two: Caught my flights, snored out loud on the six hour flight, much to the amusement/disgust of those around me, and called people from Honolulu to gloat about the weather. I’m a great friend. Checked into my hotel (which had a rainforest right behind it) and ate dinner with my boss. Fresh seafood and chocolate cake. My life is tough.

Day Three: Conducted the workshop and took a quick tour of the park. Fun times. We held our workshop outside since it was so warm. Last year, I went to Omaha for work. We did not conduct our workshop outside there.

Day Four: Interviewed some of the staff and went on long hikes. See above. This was the day I went on the ocean hike to watch the lava. Again, I love my job.

Day Five: Interviewed some more, and then did tourist-y things. This included going to a Japanese meditation garden, hiking to see the waterfall, waking along the shore, etc. I, of course, went shopping. Tacky souvenirs by the dozens! The only Elvis thing I found, though, was a book called Elvis in Hawaii. So that was a bit disappointing. But I did buy a tiki doll. And yes, I realize that this is offensive to the native culture, but every time I see it I make the Tiki Doll sound-effect from the Brady Bunch episode in Hawaii. Oh, and for future reference, Hawaiians don’t like it if all you want to talk about revolves around those Brady Bunch episodes or Elvis movies set in Hawaii (there were 3, FYI).

Day Six: Finished up work, walked around some more, and then caught my flight home. I had an overnight flight from Honolulu to Seattle. I didn’t sleep too much because Kicky VonLegspasm sat behind me. And she was 6, so I couldn’t yell at her. I arrived in Seattle at 5 am, and had to wait for my 8 am flight to Spokane. Which was delayed due to fog in Spokane. Delayed until noon. Which made for a cranky Ace, considering I was working off of little sleep (and this coupled with the knowledge that my Hawaiian vacation was over).

But I arrived home later that day to a very excited/lonely cat. She was a bit clingy my first night back. Wait until she finds out I’m leaving again in a few more weeks, and I’ll be gone for two weeks this time. Poor little Fat Skirt.

So that’s it. My trip was far more fun and exciting than what you are reading about, but oh well. I don’t want to rub it in too much and make everyone sad/jealous. Well, I kind of do, but I’m too lazy to type any more. And I have a week’s worth of work sitting on my desk.

Quick thoughts

2007-02-11T15:47:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I’m back. I’ll be relaying stories from Blue Hawaii Tour 2007 maybe tomorrow. I’m still kind of tired today, so I just have a few things.

First, what are the odds that the one week when I have no internet connection and can’t blog that two HUGE things would happen? I hate being a Johnny-Come-Lately, so I really won’t put too much on this, but the crazy astronaut lady driving to Orlando wearing a diaper? Come on! Why couldn’t she have done this when I was in town? Damn. Adults wearing diapers to facilitate a murder attempt in a bizarre-o love triangle with NASA overtones? And I missed it. Sigh.

And the death of Anna Nicole. Sad this may be (she does have a little baby), but I just want to say that I saw a news show on the life of Anna Nicole and they referred to her as a legend in our time, much like James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. Really? Really? If by “legend” they mean “easy punch line for comics,” maybe I’d go for that. I mean, it’s not fair to speak ill of the dead, but here’s why she was famous: 1) Her ladies were gi-normous and 2) she married and possibly banged a REALLY old guy for lots of money. I don’t think that makes her a legend. Elvis is a legend in our time. John Wayne, too. Anna Nicole? Yeah, no. Laura says Anna Nicole is an example of our society’s fascination with people who probably don’t need our fascination: celebrity for celebrity’s sake.*

Second, for those of you who asked for specific gifts/souvenirs from Hawaii, I received said requests too late. Sorry. Please to be noting that my sister, in true family form, called and gave me a detailed description of what she wanted months ago. And her gift is sitting at my house now.

Third, the infamous Christmas tree is out of my lawn! It is currently sitting up by the dumpster (a mere 20 feet from where it was) waiting for garbage day. Whether this was the result of my neighbor noting that it is February and perhaps time to get rid of the tree, or if the landlord saw it and decided to finally take care of business, I don’t know. I don’t actually care. For the record, Maryanne won the Christmas tree bet. She chose February as the month. So congrats to her.

A new pool will be started on how long the Christmas tree stand will occupy its position of glory on the patio. I’m going to say at least until Easter. Any takers?

Fourth, I’m grounded from Ebay yet again. Self-imposed, please to be noting. Damn you, Ebay, and your immense collection of King-related memorabilia.

Fifth, lease is signed, security deposit is recorded, and Ace moves in less than five months. Goodbye, ghetto; hello, more debt.

*Hi, Paris Hilton. How are you?

Enjoy the ice

2007-02-04T08:17:00.000-08:00

Cost of a new snow shovel: $9

My heating bill for January: $125

New coat, gloves, and scarf: $250

Knowing I will be in Hawaii (current temperature 75 degrees) for the rest of the week: Priceless

Blue Hawaii Tour 2007 kicks off in a just a few hours. See you in a week, kids.

Feb. 2

2007-02-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

So glad it is Friday. So, so, so glad. I can't really see to type this, because my eyes are completely dry after staring at my barely-working computer all day.

I really have no fun stories to report, considering I was sequestered away in my office all day. So just consider this your friendly reminder that today is my two-thirds birthday. Four months to the big day, but I'll be accepting presents now. Enjoy the weekend.

R.I.P. Flashdrive

2007-02-01T16:30:00.000-08:00

Well. It's been a long week. Very long. As anyone who has had a conversation with me can attest to. Because I don't think I was coherent in any talks. So that was fun for my students, I'm imagining.

My flash-drive died today. With all of my lectures, dissertation research, grade books, etc. Died.

Ok, that sounds sadder than it needs to, because I had everything backed up on my hard-drive, so I haven't lost a thing. But I'm so afraid that my computer is going to crash at any second (because it is also slowly dying), that I don't trust things as is. So I've been emailing myself EVERYTHING that's on my hard-drive.

Exciting story, yes? I weave quite the tale. It's amazing that some reality show hasn't decided to focus around me and my crazy life. The ratings would be through the roof.

Oh, so the best news story of the week involves my two favorite things: ass-hats and babies. And clearly by "favorite" I mean "least favorite." Japan's minister of health referred to women as "baby making machines." An elected official in 2007 said that. So hurrah for the feminist movement. We've come a long way baby.

Sigh. Maybe Japan should bring back their Elvis-loving Prime Minister. Speaking of Elvis and Japan, one of my friends is living in Japan now (doing research and making me wish I had chosen a different dissertation topic). She shares an office with a man I call Sil-vis. Because he apparently shares my affection for Elvis. And wears some Elvis-y type things. And has an Elvis hairstyle. Which is silver. It was blue, and he died it silver. Like a shine-y silver.

Ok, now I have to go eat some fast food to comfort myself and help me get through the loss of my flash-drive.

Oh, Justin

2007-01-29T07:29:00.000-08:00

Before I begin this story, let me just preface it by saying that I love Elvis. In case you couldn't figure it out/you are a moron.

So Friday night, I headed up to the Coeur d'Alene casino. Where winning is just the beginning.* I convinced a friend to go with me, who bravely went even though others tried to scare her off. The concert was entitled "Elvis and Friends." A fun-filled evening of tribute artists: Buddy Holly, Tina Turner, and, of course, the man himself.

First, I made friends with a cute little old man sitting in front of me. He goes by "Swede." Which is adorable. Actually, I probably wouldn't have continued any conversation with him if he hadn't mentioned right off the bat that he saw Elvis live in concert in 1957. His girlfriend (whose craziness became more and more apparent as the night went on) is a Patsy Cline tribute artist. Seriously.

But she did invite me to an annual party that two Elvis Tribute Artists throw. And apparently one of them can match me for Elvis shrines/memorabilia. So that's fun.

Ok, so "Buddy" and "Tina" were all right, but the Elvis guy was awesome! And I've seen a few ETA's in my day. He had everything down: the voice, the moves, the patter. Whew! So I made Lynette stand in line so I could get his autograph. Because I took my book on Elvis Tribute Artists (the 50 best in America) and Justin (this ETA) is in there.

After bonding over similar necklaces (TCB, thank you), he signed my ticket. And the photo I bought of him. And my book. And, Jesus, I just reread this and I know how cool I sound. I then received a kiss from him and I might have had a huge smile on for the next 48 hours. Lynette was forewarned that I give the crazy free rein at events like this.

So, it was awesome. Added to by the fact that at the bar in the casino afterword we were repeatedly hit on by a man I affectionately referred to as The Child Molester. Nice mustache, my friend. And if you are going to be creepy, at least buy me a drink.

Anyways. Fun times. Don't judge me.

*They have, hands down, the worst commercials ever. Their nearest competitor for this would be the Money Tree ads.

My rules

2007-01-25T15:47:00.000-08:00

Sigh. I am no fan of public restrooms, and today was filled with multiple reasons why. Adding to that, some of us discussed proper bathroom etiquette last night and I witnessed numerous transgressions today.

First, in a public restroom there is no talking once you are in a stall, or once the other person is in a stall. Unless you have already discussed this, and are both okay with it. But don't assume that someone wants to talk while taking care of business.

Second, in my department there are three stalls in the ladies' facilities. If someone is in the first stall, always take the third if it is open. Don't go into the adjoining stall. And, if all three are open when you go in, don't take the middle stall because that is going to force someone to take a stall right next to you.

Third, don't comment on ANYTHING that happens while you are in the stall. Seems basic, but apparently people need reminders.

Fourth, flush. Maryanne told me that when she went into a stall today this rule had been broken. Eww.

Fifth, wash your goddamn hands. Seriously. People aren't doing this. Yuck. And, FYI anyone I work with, I keep tabs on who does and who does not. And I judge.

I'm just glad I'm not a man, because apparently things are much worse/more disgusting in their restroom. I would probably break down and cry if I had to go in there.

Ok, that's it for my bathroom lecture. And if you haven't given me feedback on the living situation (previous post), you need to do so. And no more lurking. If you read, comment on that post. This is a give and take type of blog, folks. And, while I pride myself on being a giver, it's time for all of you to step up.

Movin' on up

2007-01-24T07:59:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I have to move, I've decided. My apartment is pretty ghetto (carpeting coming up, hasn't been painted since Ike and Mamie were chilling on Pennsylvania Avenue, wood paneling walls, etc.) and I don't actually enjoy it there. It's small. And expensive. Too great selling points.

And as much as I love Christmas, I still hate that tree. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

But I looked at a townhouse last night. It is only $70 more per month than what I'm paying for now (and slightly out of my price range, but hello one more year of financial aid!). So help me decide, people.

Pros: Not the ghetto. Neighbors aren't loud/messy. New paint. New carpet. Much bigger. Nicer in general. Closer to work. Private backyard (well, I'd share it with two other units, but it is isolated and my dining room would open onto it). Lots o' closet space. Not the ghetto (most important).

Cons: I'd only live there for one year and moving is a bitch. First, last, and cleaning deposit. I'd have free laundry, but not in my own apartment (which I currently have). More expensive. The cat would have to stay indoors because it is on a busier street. My bedroom would be upstairs (so kind of hot in the summer).

Thoughts? Comments? Please to be weighing in.

OCD meets bitterness

2007-01-22T14:33:00.000-08:00

This story/rant might seem odd, since I watched 3 hours of Grey’s Anatomy yesterday (reminder to self: send thank-you card to Netflix for rocking), but oh well.

I hate lazy people. I really do. Hate them. There is nothing worse, in my opinion, than a lazy ass. Except for maybe Meg Ryan fans.

Now, we all have our lazy moments (see above mention of 3 hours of Grey’s Anatomy, which isn’t even that good, yet I watched it) or lazy days or lazy weekends. But a whole lazy lifestyle? No. Come on.

I hate messy houses. Granted, my room was always messy when I was in high school, but it was high school. And I lived with a complete slob for 8 years, so I just can’t handle messes anymore. I give people credit when their houses get cluttered up, especially if they work non-stop, but there is a difference between clutter and dirt. Clean your house. It will make you feel better, I promise. And it’s really not that hard.

Also, I’m sorry, but that goddamn Christmas tree that my neighbor refuses to cart the extra 15 feet to the dumpster? Seriously. Get rid of it. I keep debating on moving it, but I threw her trash away for a good year (she would just leave it on the porch for 5-8 days, ewww), and I don’t think I should have to clean up after another adult. Besides, Laura says I’m just an enabler if I do that. Some of us have bets on how long the tree will stay there (and our bets are by the month, not by the day, if that gives any indication).

It reminds me of those great 6 months that her smoke detector sat on the porch. Why was it out there? Because it kept beeping, and it annoyed her, so she placed it outside. Why, I wonder, would a smoke detector beep? I wonder if it has something to do with the batteries dying. Hmmm. But leaving it on the front porch seems like a good solution. For six months. Don’t feel too badly for the smoke detector, a dirty, food-stained cooler kept it company the whole time. It was a pleasure to come home to day after day.

Other laziness: people who don’t do the work assigned to them and then get others to do it. Look around any office. It happens hourly.

There were going to be more examples, but I just re-read everything and this post seems bitter enough. Uh, so sorry about that. I blame the tree. Ok, something nice and uplifting to end on: Air Supply is performing in a few weeks. Air Supply, as in “All Out of Love.” As in, I might just love them. As in, I’m probably going to this concert alone, yes? Someone go with me.

Mmmm, chocolate. And interest charges.

2007-01-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

Wow, my posting has gotten sporadic. This week was busy. Again. And again, not fun busy. But here it is on a weekend, and I choose to not work for the next three hours (hello, o’ blessed TV).

Recap commences.

So my doctor has told me to eat more fruit, which I have been doing. Two pieces a day, including oranges, which I never liked before but am now enjoying. Except how long it takes to get to the damn fruit. Anyways, I typically have a banana, and it takes everything in me not to re-create the Colbert banana incident. But, as they say, practice makes perfect and you need to stay in shape. Which is funny if you’ve seen the clip.

Next. On Thursday, I wore a shirt that revealed a little bit more of my cleavage region than I typically do at work. So there they were. All day. I was sitting in my office, when a faculty member came in to talk to me, so he was standing and I was sitting. So he has that perspective. Our conversation:

Me: So what did you think of the first candidate? (we’re searching for a new professor)
Him: I thought he was ok, but I’d like to see what the breast of the committee thinks. **Here is where he turned bright red and shifted his gaze from the ladies up to my eyes for the rest of the conversation. I don’t think he looked away from my face or even blinked for the next five minutes as he contemplated what he had done/said. I’m assuming he meant “rest of the committee.”**

So that was fun.

Next. I attended a birthday shindig the other night, where I was introduced to a great game. I’m not going to sum up the game too much, but you tried to match words/people/events with adjectives. Man, that doesn’t sound fun, does it? But it was. Anyway, I discovered that people other than myself think Tom Hanks is useless. Because he is. He really, really is.

Finally, this cold weather and blechy snow better stop soon. I pushed two cars the other night. They got stuck in my driveway. And it was pretty funny. Maybe just for me.

Oh, finally part two. I saw “The Queen” last night. No, not Tom Cruise (don’t we all have our suspicions?). The movie about the week after Princess Diana’s death. It was ok. But I missed ten minutes of it, as I took a stroll down memory lane remembering my Princess Diana paper doll from the 80s. It rocked. So did my chocolate-covered raisins. By the way, I charged 66 cents last night. Who’s financially stable? Me.

Stupid basic cable

2007-01-16T12:33:00.000-08:00

File this under "Conversations Ace has had that she has little to no recollection of." It's a pretty big file. My early onset has finally caught up to me, and I have been punished for forgetting whatever people tell me (which, I've been told, is pretty much everything. I typically need to be told something five times before I'll remember anything. Lack of memory, which is why I'm a historian). I have no idea why I have no short-term memory. Probably because I daydream when people talk.

Anyways, so I was a bit sick this weekend, which sucks considering it was a three-day weekend. But it allowed me to work on an article, get some research and other miscellaneous class-prep done, and watch a bit of TV. And by a bit, I mean lots.

Sunday I was excited all day for the 2 HOUR SEASON PREMIERE of 24. All day. Because I love 24 and am a bit addicted to it. And by a bit, I mean obsessed.

So I arranged my whole Sunday schedule around this show, making sure I was done with absolutely everything so I could thoroughly enjoy Jack Bauer kicking some terrorist ass. At 7:59 pm, I settled into my chair, snacks in hand, cozily wrapped up in quilt and prepared to enjoy 2 straight hours of pure entertainment. As the clock ticked to 8:00, then 8:01, then 8:02, I figured out something was wrong when neither Jack nor Chloe appeared on my screen.

After pouting for 10 minutes, I did some research and discovered that my local cable provider has decided to get rid of its Fox affiliate because of some financial negotiations. No Fox. No 24. No happy Ace. Who gets rid of Fox? I am willing to pay an extra $1 or so a month for this. Stupid Time Warner cable (and they got rid of this a few months ago, but I didn't notice until now).

After thinking on this for a while, it began to seem semi-familiar. It was then that I remembered a conversation I had with my sister about this over break, she complaining that there was to be no American Idol in her near future. And this is why I should pay attention when people talk and why I should remember conversations. Had I remembered this conversation, I might have been able to take steps to ensure a 24-filled evening last night and Sunday. I could have gotten digital cable or whatever.

Since I don't pay attention when people talk to me (typically I just put on my "listening face" while I imagine myself hanging out in the Jungle Room. Aren't I the best friend ever?), I wasn't able to avoid this situation. And that is my sad, sad story from this weekend. Maybe I've learned a valuable lesson. Which I'll probably forget in a few days. Or hours. Or minutes. Hey, I think I'll watch 24 next week!

Otherwise I've just been busy working. It's going to be a long, busy spring. But that's alright, since the light at the end of the tunnel is my August visit to Graceland. Donations accepted to help fund this trip. As an added bonus, if you give me money, when we next talk, I'll try to listen to what you say. Okay, probably not.

My unintentional brashness

2007-01-10T11:57:00.000-08:00

This week is just flying by. After all the parties/commemorations for The King's birthday on Monday (did you remember to send me a present?), I've been busy working. Damn busy. Not fun busy. Semi-cranky-inducing busy. Stupid work.

And yesterday an old man yelled at me. Ok, maybe he didn't yell yell, but he did raise his voice and lecture me. In front of people. At Shop-Ko. In line. Ass-hat.

So I had to buy some semi-random things last night: a birthday card, some batteries, wrapping paper, a photo album, and "feminine hygiene" products. I go to check-out and place all of said items on the little conveyor belt, where they were visible to other shoppers. And of course old Mr. Nosey McSenile had to look. And judge.

He was apparently offended with one of my purchases. Guess which one? He then gave me a lecture, loud enough for everyone else in line to hear, on how "in his day" young ladies wouldn't so "brashly" display items that were of such a private nature.

I was so stunned that I literally couldn't say anything. Upon telling this story to someone else, he suggested that I should have taken one of the items out of the box and bitch-slapped the old man.

His little lecture didn't make me feel guilty for being so open about buying things, so much as it made me wish I had bought other items to toss on there. Like, I don't know, KY Jelly, lacy bras, some Trojans, edible underwear, a bikini wax kit, etc. Although I doubt that Shop-Ko carries some of these items, but what kind of douche bag (hey, maybe some Massengill now that I think about it) comments on other people's items? And I'm sorry if in the 1920s, women didn't purchase these in mixed company, but that's the benefit of not being 108 years old. I got to skip over the era where you hid these things. Because men shouldn't know. That's what Betty Freidan and Gloria Steinem fought for, my freedom to buy things at Shop-Ko. Or equal wages for equal work. Or something.

Okay, this post turned out to be more feminist-y than I meant it to be, and probably more descriptive than some of my male readers wanted to see. I just really wanted to comment on why, yet again, I hate people. And these people always find me.

~January 8th~

2007-01-08T08:17:00.000-08:00

Aren't holidays fun?

2007-01-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

FYI, everyone, the Christmas season is over. And as much as I love Christmas and holiday decorations, it's over. Over. Take your tree, your lights, your stockings, your ornaments, and your nativity scenes down.

Besides Christmas decorations still up in January being a huge pet peeve to me (come to think of it, the phrase "pet peeve" is also a huge pet peeve of mine), they detract from the new holiday season which is upon us. And, no, I don't mean Valentine's Day (although according to every store in town, Valentine's Day is tomorrow and you need to buy your candy NOW).

I mean my birthday holiday season. Less than five months. And counting. Put Dee-Licious the Dog on layaway now.

Movin' on up

2007-01-01T10:09:00.000-08:00

And 2006 is over. Highlights were many (being done with my exams tops this list, but this might be edged out by my "close encounter" with an Elvis tribute star), and we'll just ignore the lower points.

I rang in New Year's asleep in the back seat of a car. Which brought back some good high school memories. Uh . . .

I went to Boise yesterday to go to the Humanitarian Bowl, Miami vs. Nevada. By the way, how scary is Miami's mascot? He looked like Howard the Duck on crack, while being simultaneously possessed by the Dark Lord himself. And Howard the Duck is scary enough on his own.

Anyways, it was so freaking cold there. I'm pretty sure some of my lady bits froze and fell off. And that's a pretty image. David and Heather and I sat in front of some real winners, too. Best comment from them: "Dude, I think my taint is frozen." Eww. Makes the image from my frozen lady bits pale in comparison, yes?

We headed back to Pocatello after the game, and that's why I was asleep when 2006 turned into 2007. But I did get a drunken text message to wish me a happy New Year. And you know who you are. Please don't send me text messages--I hate them. You know I prefer drunken voice mails.

Ok, and a fair warning to everyone: if you tell me that your New Year's resolution is to not make a New Year's resolution, I will vomit. Automatic ass-kicking.

My New Year's resolution is to move out of my ghetto apartment, by the way. Any funds you could send me to help me achieve this goal would be greatly appreciated, too. Unless you want me to fail, which makes you a horrible, heartless person. Maybe your New Year's resolution should be to help your fellow (wo)man. Selfish bastards.

So happy New Year!

Dead on

2006-12-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

Did everyone see that James Brown's coffin was 24 karat gold? How hard does that rock? Twenty-four karat gold!

I'm changing my will right now. Of course, that implies that I have a will. Which I don't. I should get one, lest there is great fighting over my Elvis memorabilia, my collection of 80s albums, or my DVDs. Wow. I have absolutely nothing that anyone would ever want. I'm guessing I don't need to make a will.

But I still want my coffin to be lined with diamonds.

You can ring her bell

2006-12-27T12:43:00.000-08:00

My dad has a new cat. Well, not new new, since they've had her for a few months. She's pretty young, though. Somewhere around four or five months. She's pretty cute--dark grey, feisty, and hyper.

When I got here a week or so ago, she was just a little kitten. She would play with with her little mouse toys, balls with annoying bells in them, and random pieces of yarn. She purred non-stop if you even looked at her, and my father and step-mother called her their baby (which is pretty annoying, but they do love her).

This darling little baby kitten, in the course of the last week, though, has changed into a whore. A dirty, dirty whore. Little Maggie is all growed up. And in heat. She's a sex-kitten, if you will (and I will, because I loves the puns).

Since yesterday, she has been walking around the house being all naughty and whore-y. Doing the typical things a bitch in heat will do, including but not limited to yowling non-stop, humping the air, pawing incessantly at the carpet, and just being all-around annoying/disturbing.

She's getting fixed next week. Until then, we have to put up with her whoreishness and be careful not to let her outside, lest the little tramp put out an irresistible vibe to all cats in a twenty-mile radius.

Although my sister just pointed out that she's not a whore, since she (a) is still a virgin (Does that word apply to animals? How about "untapped"? Deflowered? I'm not up on the hip, dirty, zoology slang.) and (b) would give it up for free. So I guess she's just a wanna-be slut. There is a distinction, as my best friend in high school proved. Jen says Maggie should be pitied, because she's just a confused little girl.

Little Maggie, though, is annoying the hell out of me. I can't think of anything more obnoxious than a cat in heat.

Except for maybe the knowledge that I'm going home next week, leaving behind my dad's big screen TV and cable. And clearly Pocatello is growing a bit boring, since I'm writing about Maggie's transition into womanhood. Where's that liquor store again?

Bam!

2006-12-26T08:20:00.000-08:00

A) Raise your hand if you kicked a little ass yesterday in the making of Christmas dinner. That's right, my first turkey ever was succulent, juicy, and all around delicious. Who knew I could cook? A quick shout-out to the Rhetts for teaching me at Thanksgiving, even though I was distracted by People's Sexiest Man of the Year issue. And again a few weeks ago, even though I was distracted by the glory of their cable. Why, again, do people put up with me? In my defense, I really wanted to do my Julia Child impression all day yesterday, but I refrained.

B) Raise your hand if your Elvis shrine was added to yesterday.

C) Raise your hand if you have to return a puppy dog cookie jar today. If only I was eight.

D) Raise your hand if you, in your very first year ever participating, took first place in your Fantasy Football league. First. First place. Beat everyone. By getting first. You don't mess with the Memphis Mafia. Unfortunately, only four of us chipped in on the victory pool, so I didn't really win any money. If this strikes you as sad, and very un-Christmasy, feel free to donate money to me. And my winning team.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I'm going to go call Heather and see what's what with the leftovers. Yum. Enjoy the last few days of 2006.

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T08:25:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone is enjoying Christmas. The smell of turkey should be filling your house, with the tantalizing allure of pumpkin pie (or cheesecake) wafting about in the background.

I am enjoying my third cup of gingerbread coffee while watching holiday movies. Christmas dinner isn't until late today, so I have the morning free to do what I love most: absolutely nothing.

I haven't ripped into my presents yet, but there is a package upstairs that I have decided looks suspiciously like a long-haired chihuahua. Of course, it has been there for the last week, so maybe it isn't. Let's hope, for Dee-Licious' sake, that there are air-holes.

But have a great Christmas everyone. Eat the food, unwrap the presents (and remember that it is better to give than to receive, unless you are me), watch the snow fall, crank up the Elvis Christmas album, spend time with the fam', and celebrate the day however you so choose.

And God bless us, everyone. Especially the King.

My shitty Christmas

2006-12-23T20:51:00.000-08:00

Ok, misleading title, considering that it is Christmas Eve's Eve, but the title stands. And you'll enjoy the story.

My sister got into town tonight, joining me in my baby-sitting activities. Heather had to run to the story for some Christmas shopping, sans her two sons (my fourteen-month old nephews). She, very wisely, changed their diapers before heading out, knowing that good old Auntie Ace does not do that.

Ten minutes after she left, the fragrant aroma of a full diaper filled the air. I hollered up the stairs that someone needed to change Drew. My father replied that that was all me. Which I disagreed with. Loudly and repeatedly. Until my sister came down to take care of baby business.

Jen commented that she didn't really know how to change a diaper, because it had been many a'year. My reply was that you never forget how. It's like riding a bike. A smelly, smelly bike.

Turns out, you do forget. Or Jen forgets. It was, hands-down, the worst diaper-changing in the history of yucky diapers. Let's hope Jen doesn't have kids.

We'll skip over some of the less-than-spectacular details. Suffice it to say that poor Drew had *stuff* all over his back, all over his clothes, and went through two diapers. My father's carpet needs to be cleaned, too. And my sister's jeans. And her socks.

I, being the helpful person that I am, took the other twin and we left the room. In my defense, I had announced that I don't do diapers, the room smelled, and there was a crying baby. I don't actually like babies too much, and this diaper incident might be why.

The up-shot to this story is that it just saved me $20 next month on birth control.

I like numbers

2006-12-23T17:10:00.000-08:00

First, happy birthday to Maryanne! Whoo! Even though she is currently in one of the Carolinas (I think the non-Stephen Colbert one), I'm sure she is livin' it up. Maybe when she gets back to the part of the nation that does not still commemorate Jefferson Davis' birthday, we can celebrate. And by celebrate, I mean eat pumpkin cheesecake and drink.

Speaking of drinking . . .

Second, I'll be consuming a lot of this over the next few days:

Maybe some stories on that will be coming later.

Third, is it wrong if I want to go see Rocky VI again? Because I do. I really, really do. Why? Because I can't sing or dance.

Fourth, I bet I'm the only one laughing at that last joke.

Fifth, still looking for a gift for me? I would like to be an Elvis insider. I get discounts and "insider" information. Ok, so I really do want this so I guess I shouldn't mock it, but what kind of "insider" information do you think they mean? He's been dead* for almost 30 years. Has he really been up to something, to the point where I could get the down low before anyone else? I don't know, but I'd kind of like to find out. And the discounts. I'm going to Graceland this summer, and think of all the money I'll save. Before I get banned for life for being inappropriate.**

Sixth, how many times do you think I can watch A Very Brady Christmas with my family before they ban me for life?

Seventh, I got all excited today when I saw an ad for the Christmas Story marathon on TBS. Which I plan on watching. Even though I own the movie. Because it is tradition to watch the TBS marathon. And holidays are nothing without tradition. How would we know it's Christmas without TBS? That's like celebrating my birthday without my six-month countdown.

Eighth, do you think my cat misses me? Do you think she misses how I like to make numbered lists to recap everything?

Ninth, my dinner is ready. And Pocatello is very exciting, yes?

*Allegedly.
**Inappropriate actions include, but are not limited to, stealing some memorabilia, going behind the velvet ropes to sit on the monkey chair in the Jungle Room (thank you, pop-up Graceland book), and, of course, humping the music note gates. At least those are some of the actions you can bet on me trying. I know what you're thinking, but I crossed that line so long ago that it really just doesn't matter anymore. I embrace the crazy.

The Italian Stallion delivered

2006-12-22T13:58:00.000-08:00

Oh.

My.

God.

I loved Rocky Balboa so much. So, so much. Everyone needs to go see Rocky VI. I probably won't be seeing it again, considering the theatre management banned me forever. What can I say? I might have gotten a little over-excited when I heard the theme music. And I might have started running up the stairs in the theatre in my sweats, whilst pumping my fist over my head, and slurring my words like a drunken whore on New Year's Eve. And I might have yelled out that Mr. T and Ivan Drago can suck it.

No. I was on good behavior, although I did do a little seat dancing. I like to go the distance.

Seriously, this movie kicks ass by the truckload. I plan on seeing it again soon. And I'm assuming that you are all marking this down, because for my birthday (which is just a little over five months off) I would like all the Rocky movies. Except five. Just buy me two copies of four instead.

I like Rocky because he's all heart. He's a winner in life. When Rocky wins, America wins, according to one of my friends. And punching carcasses is how I also like to get in shape.

Ok, Pocatello recap. I clearly saw Rocky. I have painted some ornaments with Heather. I have decorated some cookies with Heather. I have eaten some cookies by myself (I ate the ones I did, because they were less-than-impressive. Unless I am actually four. And retarded. And on crack. Then they were awesome!). I have done some research. I have bought the turkey for Christmas dinner. I have read two fiction books. I have wrapped some presents. I have watched more Christmas movies. I have TIVO'd about 18 hours of Scrubs. I have visited with the nephews. I have spent bonding time with my dad. I have watched three gay pornos. Just checking to see who is still reading my exciting recap. The last one wasn't true. Or was it?

So that's it. I'm loving vacation. And Rocky. I love doing nothing and watching films about aging boxers who refuse to say no to life. When is the next Rambo due? Because, my friends:

I

Am

Pumped.

Zoinks and jinkies and sadness all around

2006-12-18T19:46:00.000-08:00

Man. Nothing kills a vacation high faster than famous people dying. Except maybe seeing old people naked. Remind me not to be visiting the grandparents for a while.

Anyways, Joe Barbera died. The co-creator of Tom and Jerry, Yogi Bear, the Jetsons, the Flintstones, Huckleberry Hound, Scooby Doo, and Space Ghost. How sad is that?

Of course, he was 95. Man, if he was naked he would be the worst of both worlds. I mean, uh, rest in peace.

I think the world will be a little bit sadder with good old Joe. We all need a little spirit-raising and good times. Speaking of good times, did anyone else think that Wilma was a silent sufferer of domestic abuse? Their relationship was odd. Of course, so was Fred and Barney's. Not odd, like my fascination with Elvis, but odd like Batman and Robin. Just a thought. And why was a Great Dane lighting up with Shaggy, and getting the munchies? That was a weird image for kids. But still, we all enjoyed Barbera's work, and the world will mourn him.

So hide the pic-i-nic baskets and hop in the Mystery Machine. Pay tribute, my friends. Pay tribute.

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go . . .

2006-12-17T17:23:00.000-08:00

I'm all packed. The car is filled up. A note has been written to my cat-sitters. Christmas presents are ready to go.

I don't leave for another day and a half. This is what happens when you have OCD and plenty of free time on a Sunday. I did all my laundry today, cleaned my whole house, and took care of all of my pre-trip tasks. Now I'm bored (which explains the Peter, Paul, and Mary reference) and wishing that I could take off now. Well, not now now, since I'm not to be trusted driving in the dark. But soon now.

As much as I love, love, love Pullman, I am so ready to get out of here. Stupid finals tomorrow. I'm going to rush down to Lewiston, give some exams, grade like it's going out of style for the rest of the day, and then I'm gone, gone, gone.

Vacation. In Pocatello, but it's still a vacation. Sleeping in. Eating other people's food. Watching the 5 ka-billion channels my father gets. And just livin' large, Pocatello style.

And while I'll miss Pullman (and the spare ribs and tequilla, and good company of last night), there's nothing better than leaving here. If only for a bit. Oh, and the drive home is long so sometimes I call people to pass the time. And I'm leaving pretty early, so for all of you on speed dial, just pray that I don't get bored until after Wallace. Or at least Worley.

Safe driving to me, and merry one-week-until-Christmas-Eve!

The leisurely life of Ace

2006-12-15T18:38:00.000-08:00

One finals week down, one to go. I officially have nothing to do until my last two classes take their finals Monday. Except finish up that article. Or do some research. Or do course prep for next semester.

So, see? Nothing.

My solution to killing time today was to clean out my closets, which I enjoy doing. Typically I wait until I get back from visiting the family before I do this. My stepmother's house is a fitting ode to all that is tacky and cheap, and, as an added bonus, is filled to the ceiling with this stuff. And I'm not exaggerating. Maybe I'll post pictures. And there are a few of you who have seen the House of Scary, so feel free to back me up here. Anyways, for some odd reason, staying for an extended period at this house inspires me to throw shit out.

Speaking of throwing shit out, let me just throw out there that I'm really tired of this wind in Pullman. It's cold, and loud, and scares the cat, who then jumps on me in the middle of the night with her claws out, and it sometimes makes my power go out (four times last night. Really.), and I don't like it.

Anyways, I'm bored in Pullman right now because most people have already taken off for vacation. Leaving me alone for three more days. Selfish bastards. Some of you are travelling through the South, though. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but Elvis is pretty big down there. I'm assuming you will want to buy some things to make up for the fact that I'm still stuck here and the rest of my holiday plans involve Idaho.

Oh, and everyone should go watch this video, courtesy of Patrick (in that he sent me the link, not that he made it. Or maybe he did make it, I don't read emails too carefully, unless the subject line has multiple xxx's. Uh, kidding. For the record. And Patrick did not make this video. See what happens when cats jump on you in the middle of the night?). Uh, so video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20Of_mna-Rs

The Jungle Room, 3-D

2006-12-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

I am so close to being on winter vacation, I can taste it! Or maybe that's the 25 pounds of fudge and gingerbread cookies I've eaten. Hmmm, Christmas is delicious.

Speaking of things I love, my friends and I held our annual Christmas ornament exchange party the other night. This tradition, lo stretching back these five years now, is one of my favorite parts of the year. We each purchase an ornament, wrap it up, and then go out to dinner. This year, Maryanne and Sarah cooked for us. I was to be helping, but then I discovered that they get Comedy Central.

And I lost all interest in being Helpful Ace.

Anyways, we all put our ornaments in the middle of the table and then take someone else's bag. It's a nice way to exchange gifts, without having to buy for everyone.

But some of us still exchanged gifts, and this is the point of this post. I GOT THE MOST AWESOME PRESENT EVER!!!

Maryanne and Sarah gave me an Elvis book. I'm sorry, that's an Elvis book which focuses on Graceland. I'm sorry, does that not grab your interest? Did I neglect to mention that it is a . . .

Pop-Up Book!

I love it so much it hurts.

Next point to this post: no one else needs to buy this book for me. Let's not have a repeat of last year, how about?

And one last thing before I dash off (yes, dash, it's Christmas, get it?) to give my last two lectures of the semester. We all love holiday decorations. Or we should. Heathens. Let's make a quick list of appropriate ones: lights, trees, wreaths, stockings, etc. Inappropriate ones: lights up all year, trees that aren't green, and those GODDAMN inflatable Santas and snowmen out in your yard.

Why would someone like this?

"Hi, I like to tackily decorate my yard because I'm an ass. Speaking of asses, would you like to kick mine?"

Yes, I would. We all would. For the love of all that is holy this holiday season, do us all a favor. Open your eyes, pull your head out, and take these things down.

That is the gift that keeps on giving.

Maybe you're a cotton-headed ninny-muggins

2006-12-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

I know you'll all be relieved to find out that I fixed some problems on my gift list. Thanks to some alert people, I discovered that some links weren't working. Problem solved now, though. Whoo. Close one.

I'm feeling very holiday-y today. I went to the coffee shop this morning to grade papers and do some other work, but I had to stop after 3 1/2 hours due to a headache the size of Texas. So I came home and have been watching Christmas movies since 11:30.

Thus far I have seen the clay-mation Rudolph (it will never cease to be awesome to me), Mickey's Christmas Carol, A Muppet Family Christmas, assorted Disney holiday cartoons, A Christmas Story, and Elf is on right now. I still have Babes in Toyland. The Annette Funicello movie, not the *adult* film.

My headache has been gone for about an hour, but I've decided to already call my working for the weekend over, so the holiday marathon continues. I'm so jolly right now, I could vomit. Do we all do that when we are happy, or was that just my little pukey dog, St. Belle-vis?

To add to my holiday mood, I still have leftover gingerbread men to eat. I made them for a little gathering yesterday, and there's some leftovers. I've also decided that I'm going to stick with the whole history thing, since clearly professional cookie-decorating is not my area of expertise. While the cookies were mouth-wateringly delicious (I'm so humble), they were hideous. Absolutely hideous.

The cookie version of the naked scene in Borat, if you will.

So now I shall eat some cookies and continue to enjoy Elf. I wish I could look very purple-y today. Which reminds me, happy holidays Castaspella! You have such a pretty face, you should be on a Christmas card!

Don't exams make us all sick, though?

2006-12-08T12:58:00.000-08:00

I'm grading finals, which is just about as much fun as it sounds. My smarter students, though, are spicing up their essays with references to Elvis. I'm not above giving higher grades to my ass-kissers.

Anyways, I just spilled some coffee on one exam. I felt kind of badly, but then I remembered that it is the final and few students bother picking up these exams next semester. And I remembered the time when my little dog (rest in peace, little Saint Belle-vis) threw up on a student's exam. Which the student did pick up.

That was fun to explain.

Pukey Belle often earned her nickname.

I did give the student some bonus points for the vomit incident, though. Because I'm nice. And it was, I guess, my fault.

Holiday statistics

2006-12-07T07:59:00.000-08:00

So I was talking to someone last night about the seemingly overwhelming number of homely people in the world. This conversation segued easily into comparing Seinfeld statistics to what we see when we look around.

On an episode of Seinfeld, Jerry and Elaine discuss the percentage of ugly people in the world. Elaine thinks that 20 to 25% of the population is good looking, while Jerry maintains that it is 4 to 5%. The rest, as Jerry says, is undateable. And the only reason this 95% ugly population gets together with anyone is alcohol. And we've all been there.

Clearly we all define beauty different ways. I think Don Geronimo and James Gandolfini are hot, but I think I have different standards than everyone else. Personality really plays into it for me. Oh, and men who are pussies are instantaneously ugly for me. I like men to be men, like Stephen Colbert. So, see, I'm not just all superficial about looks.

I would say that, just looking around, the percentage of less than attractive people (taking into consideration looks and personality, with personality getting most of my attention) hovers somewhere around 80%. That's right: I see 80% of the population as undateable, in Jerry's terms.

Or unbangable, in other people's terms.

So if you are planning on having a great holiday season, you might plan on packing vodka wherever you go. Just spreading some more Christmas cheer.

You WILL get a sentimental feeling

2006-12-06T12:28:00.000-08:00

Sigh. My department is having their holiday luncheon today. Something I haven't missed since my first year here in 2002. And I'm missing it today. Right now, as a matter of fact. Maybe people will feel badly enough for me to save some food. But I've seen the people I work with attack free food like starving refugees, so I'm guessing there will be no leftovers.

Speaking of holidays, am I the only person who loves Christmas music? I've been playing it non-stop since Thanksgiving, and I received a complaint today. My neighbor called me to verify that she was, in fact, hearing Christmas music emanating from my apartment.

The way she broached the topic, you would have thought I was either: (a) killing puppies or (b) playing Christmas music in July. Is it that shocking that I am listening to Christmas music in December? Being the self-less person that I am, I gave her a choice of Christmas music. I could play Elvis Christmas (which is what was on), my Brady Bunch Christmas album, or my Neil Diamond Christmas CD.

Shockingly, none of those seemed like good options to her. By the way, our walls are about thisthin, so it's not like I was cranking the music up. I can hear when she sneezes.

I told this story to Paul as we were driving into work. He shifted a bit guiltily in his seat, and then admitted that he too hates Christmas music. Which we were currently listening to (hey, it's my car. He should just be happy that I didn't have Air Supply on). He then pointed out that I was in the minority on this.

I honestly had no idea. But I've now taken it up as my own personal mission to convert all of you pagans. I will play the Tiny Gimpy Tim to all you bastardly Scrooges.

It's Christmas, people. Enjoy this special time of year. Drink your eggnog. Decorate your tree. Innocently run into people underneath your mistletoe.

And enjoy the goddamn Christmas music. Learn it, live it, love it.

Godless heathens.

Maybe I'll go online next year . . .

2006-12-03T10:22:00.000-08:00

And my Christmas shopping is done-ish for the year. I still have a couple of things left, but I know exactly where to go for those.

Doesn’t that sound nice?

The story behind the shopping is not quite as nice. Yesterday’s shopping trip pushed me fairly close to the edge, and I’m sure that sailors everywhere were blushing at my verbal outbursts. It was a mother-fucker of a day to get these presents. And if I bought you presents, and you don’t like them, tough shit. I spent 10 hours shopping and I’m still a bit grumpy over it.

Stupid parking lot. Stupid too many shoppers. Stupid parents with their SUV strollers, who refuse to recognize that walking in the middle of the aisle at a snail’s pace is bound to result in my fury.

On the bright side, I came home and wrapped the presents while drinking wine and watching A Very Brady Christmas. I was in a much better mood by the end of that. I do enjoy wrapping gifts, and they look fantastic, may I just say. And there’s nothing like a merlot and Mike Brady’s Christmas toast to put everything into perspective.

So here it is, with three weeks to go before the day, and I am essentially set. I’m so proud of myself. Now I can focus on grading finals and packing. I hit the road in a few weeks, so watch out Pocatello. Ace is coming to town, spreading Christmas cheer wherever she goes. Just ask my fellow shoppers in Spokane.

T-minus 24 days

2006-12-01T12:25:00.000-08:00

I'm currently killing time waiting for someone to get out of a meeting and I thought to myself, "Self, what better way to effectively utilize your time than by posting gift ideas?" While I briefly toyed with the idea of proofreading some students' papers, I ended up agreeing with myself on the gift idea.

Besides, I'm doing my Christmas shopping tomorrow and others may want to likewise get a jump on the holiday season, so really I'm helping everyone by being so on top of things. I like to be helpful.

List:

Dee-Licious the Dog
Blue Christmas Light from Graceland (seriously)
Seasons 2-4 of Scrubs
Seasons 2-5 of The Brady Bunch
Gift cards to Amazon
"All Shook Up" Elvis Champagne (yup)
David Wilkins' book American Indian Politics
Strangers With Candy, the movie
Seasons 1-5 of Queer as Folk
Amy Sedaris' book I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence
Seasons 2 and 3 of Arrested Development
Elvis coins
Things from my two favorite antique stores (in Lewiston and Palouse, and you know who I'm talking to)
Stephen King's Darktower series in hardcover
Season 1 of Weeds
All seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm
Elvis windchimes
Bookends
A small pearl ring
Cover of Rolling Stone framed
All seasons of Entourage

Ok, that's more than enough to get everyone started. And remember, it is better to give than to receive. So really I'm helping everyone. It's nice to be nice.

The Iceman Cameth

2006-12-01T10:00:00.000-08:00

December is here. I know, because I had to flip my Elvis calendar today. I also know because there's about 18 feet of snow outside.

I'm okay with snow in December, though, because there are a few highlights to this month. First, Christmas. I'll be heading off to see the family in a few weeks. Decorations, food, shopping, all the good times of winter break. More importantly for December, however, is that tomorrow is my half-birthday.

Which counts, present-wise. I've yet to receive anything, but here's hoping. I could sure use a new laptop. And a long-haired Chihuahua, whose name I have switched to Dee-Licious, just in case I have a daughter someday that I'd like to name 'Cilla. And I'm pretty sure based on that comment, I should never have kids.

Speaking of having kids, did everyone watch Scrubs last night? My favorite part was The Todd's distortion of Carrie Underwood's name. Good times.

Okay, since I'm at work and ostensibly here to work and not go get tea every 30 minutes, maybe I should work. And maybe you should all be out shopping for the half-birthday present.

Limp studs

2006-11-29T12:58:00.000-08:00

This week doesn’t seem to be my week. On Monday, when I was Pukey Ace (which I might still be), I couldn’t get my car out of my driveway because of the snow. So yesterday, I shelled out $479 to get studded tires put on.

And, tree-huggers or road-lovers, don’t complain about how those tires tear up the roads. They also save lives. Especially with how I drive. Which is all safe, and stuff. Maybe.

I need them for when I drive through the mountain passes in Montana. As fun as those high-elevation, windy roads are in the winter, they are also a bit dicey sans-studded tires.

So I got those tires on, and I was feeling great driving through the icy streets of Pullman yesterday. I was muttering under my breath about people driving slowly because of the new-found freedom my studded tires gave me in speeding along over the blackest ice.

This morning I was so excited to drive straight out of my driveway with no problems. I stopped at the store to buy a paper and some coffee on my way to work when I noticed a problem: one of my nice new tires seemed a bit low. And by low, I mean it was

GODDAMN FLAT!!!

My new tire!

So I had to drop my car off yet again at the tire place, where I might have yelled at a worker (because it was going to cause me to be late and it is just ridiculous to have a flat the day after buying BRAND NEW GODDAMN TIRES!!!). I’m assuming I will be getting a least a partial refund.

On the bright side, yesterday was Laura’s birthday so I had ice cream and éclairs. That does actually put me back in the positive column, week-wise.

Oreos and vomit in one post! Amazing!!

2006-11-27T19:55:00.000-08:00

Ok, so it was pointed out to me in a comment on my previous post that I have double-dipped on titles. This is the second time I have used “Pukey Ace” just in November. I don’t think this was a slam on me* so much as a gentle reminder that I might have some larger problems. So . . .

Hi. I’m Ace. I’m a vomit-aholic.

(Hi Ace)

Maybe I am Pukey Ace a lot. I’m sensing a trend. Except the last one was from food poisoning (or Ace’s callous disregard for dietary standards when it comes to spicy foods) and this one includes the added bonuses of sore throat, fever, aches, and all those other symptoms from those horrible Nyquil commercials. Ah, Nyquil. That blessed angel of night.

Uh, sorry. Got side-tracked.

Ok, so maybe I do get Pukey fairly frequently. Maybe I’m bulimic and I just don’t know it. It would certainly explain my amazing propensity to polish off a whole bag of Oreos in one sitting, but it would leave me puzzled as to how my scale ain’t moving but at all.

For the record, I'm not bulimic. But I do like Oreos, and my half-birthday is this weekend. Just sayin'.

So, sorry for the already-used title. I blame my lack of creativity on my fever. And my fondness for invoking the spirit of St. Belle-vis. Which you don’t all get, but trust me, she deserves to be invoked. R.I.P., little Belle-vis. R.I.P.

*If it was a slam on me, I know where the poster is and I can inform said poster’s step-mother-in-law that she LOVES her interior decorating skills and would thoroughly enjoy it if said in-law could redecorate said poster’s house. Follow? Man, I could have been a lawyer!

Pukey Ace

2006-11-27T13:15:00.000-08:00

And I'm sick. With the flu. And as blech-y as I feel, I'm more angry than anything because I got a

MOTHER-FUCKING FLU SHOT!!!

I sat through it. I had the needle pierce my delicate skin. I got the band aid. I was mocked for my fraidy-ness. But I did it so I wouldn't get sick.

And I'm sick.

So I'm not in the best of moods, and now I have to go teach again today (working off a few hours of sleep and nothing but tea in my system). Lord knows what sorts of things will come out of my mouth.

Ew. I just reread that, and I meant what kinds of things I'd say, but it came across as projectile vomiting.

And that's the image I shall leave you with.

Belated and bloated posting

2006-11-25T11:35:00.000-08:00

So . . . full . . . Won't . . . eat . . . again . . .

Until I remember the piece of pumpkin pie in my fridge.

Ah, Thanksgiving. I learned how to cook a turkey, made place settings for everyone (that would rival any kindergarteners), and ate my own weight in holiday goodies. I give this Thanksgiving three stars.

And now the holiday season is off and running. My decorations are up, except for the sad fact that I have no tree this year. Since I'll be leaving town around December 19th and won't be back until after New Year's, I decided that a tree-less Christmas was okay. I'd have to take the tree down before I left, lest my cat decide to do that for me, and my dad will have his up.

Sigh of relief from everyone, I'm guessing, that the tree situation is A-OK.

And if you come to my house in the next three and a half weeks, be prepared to be greeted by non-stop Elvis Christmas songs. Because that's how I ring in the holiday season, much to my neighbor’s happiness. I hope.

Speaking of Christmas, I need to go shopping. And so do you all. My list will be up soon, but until then you can always go to elvis.com for ideas. I've decided to embrace the crazy, by the way. Life seems more fun that way. Happy post-Thanksgiving weekend!

My cornacopia overfloweth

2006-11-22T13:01:00.000-08:00

Since I plan on spending all day tomorrow (a) gorging (b) drinking or (c) napping, I thought I'd take this opportunity to mark some of the things I'm thankful for.

First, I'm thankful for Elvis. Derh.

Second, I'm thankful that I have friends who can cook so I won't starve tomorrow.

Third, I'm thankful for netflix.

Fourth, I'm thankful for my week off.

Fifth, I'm thankful that I can now play my Elvis Christmas albums and not look too crazy.

Sixth, I'm thankful that I'm bored with this post, so I'm stopping.

Enjoy your dinner, and save some room for pumpkin cheesecake. Unless you are eating with me, in which case there is no cheesecake.

Like moths to a flame

2006-11-21T09:34:00.000-08:00

I can't escape them. They always find me.

This morning I headed down to the coffee shop to do some work. I sat by myself in a back corner. I had work spread around me and was busily typing on my laptop. I was clearly working.

That's when this woman--who was fairly elderly--came and sat down at my table. And she just started talking. I felt badly for her, and assumed that she was a bit lonely. So I nodded along as she talked.

And talked.

And talked.

About her bunions (ew). About her cat. About the bad parking lot at Dissmores (and I'm totally down with her there). About plaid vs. paisley (swear to God).

After ten minutes, she looked over at me and said, "Shit, honey, you're not Melissa. Are you?"

After ascertaining that I am not, in fact, Melissa, she then gave me a lecture on talking to strangers. She actually said that she could have been a murderer, and I put myself in danger by talking to her. Of course, my talking consisted of grunts here and there as she droned on and on. I didn't even bother to explain to her that I was just being polite, nor did I point out the innate craziness that was her, considering she was the person who talked to me for ten minutes before figuring out I wasn't who she thought I was.

She concluded by sighing and muttering something about my generation. Because clearly I was in the wrong here. And now I hate Melissa, wherever she may be.

Oh, and happy birthday if it happens to be your birthday. And you are driving by yourself, anxiously anticipating your birthday lasagna and birthday cake. Enjoy.

Classy touches from Hollywood

2006-11-20T19:53:00.000-08:00

Do we all remember the O.J. trial? Ah, the good times: the glove, Kato, the Bronco. Memories, memories. Well, Simpson, in yet another attempt to prove just how innocent he is in the brutal slaying of his wife and another man, decided he would write a book. And by write, I'm guessing I mean "write" since the man can barely sign an autograph while denying his involvement in the murder.

Anyways, the book was to be about how O.J. would have committed the murders, if he had done them. The title? If I Did It. The subtitle: Which I Totally Didn't, Because Remember How I Was All Acquitted and Stuff and Have Spent the Last Eleven Years Trying to Find the Real Killer In Between Rounds of Golf, Because I'm Innocent?

The book sounded like a good idea from day one. And not at all in bad taste. Apparently, though, there was a bit of an uproar and someone brought it to some marketing genius’s attention.

Rupert Murdoch, chairman of the company that owns the publishing house that gave this project the thumbs up, stated that "I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project."

No shit, Sherlock. Ill-considered, though? Really? See, when a pleasantly plump lady wears low-riders and a too-short shirt, that is ill-considered. When I stand in line behind Granny Grocery who has a couple for every goddamn thing in her cart, that's ill-considered. When you gossip in the department bathroom without first checking to see who all is around, that, my friends, is ill-considered.

Commissioning an "innocent" man to write a book on how he would have killed his wife so that he could have gotten away with it*, and still shown that bitch what's what, that might be more than ill-considered. Perhaps very ill-considered. Or even, and I hate to go out on a limb here, fucking retarded. Ass-hats.

Speaking of douchebags from Hollywood, a big shout-out to the racist Michael Richards, aka Kramer. Yelling racial epithets at hecklers during a stand-up routine is a great way to move your career forward, so well done. Perhaps calling two African-American men the n-word and announcing that fifty years ago he would have had them upside down with a fucking fork up their asses, and then telling them that that's what they get for interrupting "the white man," was a poor idea.

Some might even call it ill-considered.

*Of course, that makes it sound as though he didn't already get away with it.

The truthiness of sexiness

2006-11-19T20:40:00.000-08:00

So I was reading through Stacy's site and thoroughly enjoying her countdown of People's Sexiest Men* when I remembered that I had yet to post the week's best news/bad news. You can't blame me, really, since I'm on vacation** and shouldn't be held accountable for remembering anything.

The best news: Stephen Colbert was named as one of People's sexiest people.

The bad news: He didn't win for THE sexiest.

Goddamn it, George Clooney. We all know you are sexy. And you've won before. Greedy, greedy, greedy. Therefore, his second victory doesn't count, and the title then goes to a newcomer to the field of sexiness. Colbert clearly won and, nation, I called it!

You can't doubt his sexiness if you have ever seen the man dance. Or make out with Paul Dinello. Or go down on a banana.

In other celebrity*** news, Cruise married his girl-toy this weekend. He only knocked her up a year and a half ago and now they're all legal and stuff. And they say romance is dead. Bets on divorce date? I'm going November 2007. Or until whatever drugs he's on and sharing with her wear off.

Ok, back to vacationing.

*Why must we as a society turn men into sexual objects, robbing them of their humanity? Ah, yes, 1988 JFK Jr. That is why. Is it wrong to have a crush on someone who has passed away? Oh, wait, I just caught sight of my Elvis shrine.
**Vacation in Pullman, the Palm Springs of Washington.
***And by celebrity, I mean "celebrity."

Royale with Cheese

2006-11-19T12:13:00.000-08:00

So I saw the new Bond movie last night. My review is this: eh. It was okay. Too much on the love story, and too cheesy in this regard. And where was Q? So, if you must see it, see it as a matinee.

FYI: if you buy me a mug that says something like "Only my cat understands me," consider the friendship over. Just to let you know. Also, consider your ass-kicking imminent.

I'm on Thanksgiving break. Yet I've been working all day. What seems wrong in this situation? I'm aiming to work hard today, tomorrow, and Tuesday. After that, I choose to goof off and eat for the rest of break. Speaking of eating, I'm to be cooking something for Thanksgiving. Suggestions?

Alright, I'm going to get back to work. Which involves thinking bad thoughts about students who never learned to write.

Rumor has it

2006-11-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

It has been such an odd week. My computer sucks like a dirty whore and I spent most of yesterday dealing with that, instead of working or going to coffee like I would have wanted to.

But it's fixed. Ish.

And some other stuff has been going on. Not exactly the best of times for some people (not me). Hey, when did men get to be the most Chatty of all the Cathys? Men are gossip whores, is all that I know. And as fond of gossip as I am, at least the ladies know when to stop talking.

Men seem to have trouble toeing that line and passing on things that need to be kept quiet. Ass-hats. And you know who you are. Jesus Christ, how hard is it to keep your goddamn mouth shut about things that aren't your business?

And that is my stereotype for the day. Let's see how many people I just offended. But my rant rings true. In my humble opinion.

Uh, so Thanksgiving is next week. I'm not the biggest fan of this "holiday" because it does not involve presents. For me. Which is something you can change if you want. Start a new tradition, is what I say. Charity starts at home. And by home, I mean my home. I need an Ipod folks.

Ok, I've got work to do. Real work. And real coffee to go drink.

Don't be cruel

2006-11-13T12:13:00.000-08:00

There are a few things I look forward to with unmitigated glee: my birthday, pumpkin cheesecake, my birthday, Christmas vacation, my birthday, the unveiling of a naked version of Colbert Report (so what? don't judge), and, of course, my once-a-semester lecture on the glory that is Elvis.

Of course, for the administration, I have to call this lecture "The 1950s." But my subtitle is "Elvis kicks ass by the truckload." My friend's subtitle it, "Ace's Crazy on Display." But whatever.

Since I'm teaching two different sections of U.S. history this semester, I had the chance to praise Elvis for two different classes. Unfortunately, I had to go to a conference in Spokane on the first lecture date, so one of my friend's delivered her version of a 1950s lecture, and let's just say that glorifying Elvis was not top on her priority list.

I consoled myself on the loss of this lecture, knowing I still had one more chance. I showed up for work today a bit excited and headed off to class. I had my video clips ready, to show just how sexy the man was. I highlight his dancing and how scandalous it was, so I need video clips.

And the goddamn technology in my classroom didn't work. Even with five students working on it. No video clips. No swooning from Professor Ace. No happy students.

Just me. Getting more and more angry. And now my anger has turned to sadness.

Bitter, bitter sadness.

But then I started thinking that if this was the worst thing that happened to me this week, then really I had a pretty good life. My plan for the rest of the day is to show a movie to my other class, read some fiction, watch some "M*A*S*H" and "Queer as Folk," and put away some laundry. Not a bad thing I got going, so maybe I should get over the whole classroom debacle.

Or write a letter to the stupid IT, and then cancel Wednesday's lecture on Vietnam to watch "Viva Las Vegas" and show off my Elvis memorabilia (which I have a bit of).

Isn't shocking that someone hired me?

Pukey Ace

2006-11-12T09:46:00.000-08:00

Ah, three-day weekends. Ah, three-day weekends where I get to leave town. Ah, three-day weekends where I come back into town and get violently ill.

Maybe I had an allergic reaction to Pullman? Or maybe Ace plus spicy foods equals bad idea/a bout with pseudo-bulimia. I'm so glad I scrubbed my bathroom floor and toilet Thursday, considering I spent much of last night admiring them. Up close.

I'm assuming you all wanted to hear that story, right?

Anyways, I feel less-than-spectacular right now, so I'm occupying my time by grading (see, even at my lowest, my students come first-ish), watching fan-videos of Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart on youtube (God bless youtube, the modern chicken-noodle soup), and sending out long, rambling emails to some people. Uh, sorry in advance to those people.

In bright news, I had a terrific weekend.* Until about 10 hours ago. Oh, and go see Borat. Funny, funny. And may I suggest that during the hotel scene, you might want to go refill your twenty-pound bag o' popcorn and avoid actually watching . . . uh . . . some tainted acting. Well, I guess that depends on your gag reflex.**

Ok, that's about it. I'm going to go brush my teeth. Again. And try to get the taste of Pepto out of my mouth. Again.

*Terrific? Am I Winnie-the-Pooh? Or five?

**Ladies.

Little 'Cilla needs a home

2006-11-09T16:26:00.000-08:00

Thank God the elections are over. It is official, because Stephen Colbert called it. As fun as all of those campaign commercials were--and they were only in the best competitive spirits and not at all unnecessarily nasty--we're done for a few years.

And by few years, I mean any second now since people are already looking to the 2008 election. Some people have already thrown their hats in the ring.* To me, this is like stores decorating for Christmas the second Halloween is over. When really they should all be focused on my birthday. And shouldn't we all be focused on that?

Speaking of my birthday, as some of you know--thanks to the beauty of voice-mail and the persistency that is Ace--I have found what I want for my half-birthday/Christmas. A long-haired Chihuahua. That's right, this girly-dog. I want it. And they are expensive, so please to be donating to the Ace Dog Fund.**

Seriously, I saw one at the hair-stylist the other day and now I want one. Now I know what arguments you are all going to use in your lame-assed excuse to not give me money, that I'm not the best dog owner, that I travel too much and am gone for too long in the day, that I will only want the dog for the first week and then I'll grow tired of it (whom I've name 'Cilla, by the way) and try to pawn her off on one of you, that all the other dogs will mock it for being so dumb-looking, that my cat will smother it with her fat-skirt***, blah, blah, blah.

And you are all wrong. And by wrong, I mean 100% correct. Yet, I still want one. So, I think you should all chip in, and you can call it a celebration over the election results.**** The Democrats won, and Ace got a puppy. And everyone is happy. Hop to.

*Whew, how Idaho am I that I just used that phrase?

**Tax-deductible, I'm sure, if you make the checks out to me.

***She does have one. It is not as attractive as you may think.

****See ya, Rumsfeld

Count those ballots

2006-11-08T09:10:00.000-08:00

Guess what today is? In addition to being the day after elections (did you vote, or were you a pathetic loser who is content with how things are running?), it is also MORE THAN A WEEK AFTER HALLOWEEN. Take your goddamn decorations down.

Now, while I might be guilty of putting my Christmas decorations up a bit early (is July too early? No, I put them up the day after Thanksgiving), I would NEVER leave them up too long after Christmas. The day after New Year's and those babies come down like a cheap whore.

I really hate it when people leave their decorations up through January, February, or the entire year. If you are too goddamn lazy to take them down, don't put up your stupid inflatable Santa Claus. We all hate it anyways.

But Halloween decorations up in November seems even worse to me. Is there anything more depressing than seeing a dying jack-o-lantern sitting on a porch? Besides finding out that Britney Spears and Mr. Britney Spears are headed for divorce court (like that segue? I'm working on it), or course.

Did not see that one coming. They seemed like the perfect couple, if by perfect I mean that they both have the IQ of a child of four, who is on crack. It just makes me question all of Hollywood's couples, really. If Britney and Bad-Rapper can't make it, who can? Watch out Tom Hanks* and Rita Wilson: you could be next.

Oh, and I found what I want for my Christmas/half-birthday/me-being-me present. A long-haired Chihuahua. Now, before you get all judge-y and remind me that my animals tend to be a bit creepy and that I'm not a good pet owner . . . uh, okay. Maybe no dog for me.

*I still can't stand Tom Hanks, but I do like that his marriage has outdistanced most Hollywood couples. Not that being married more than 1 year takes that much work to beat them out.

The price is wrong, bitch!

2006-11-06T12:08:00.000-08:00

While there were no jokes about pudding pops, Saturday night's Bill Cosby Extravaganza did feature a Fat Albert moment. And that, my friends, made it all worth it.

Actually, what made it all worth it was the 18 year-old sitting in front of me. Before I sound dirty and creepy (or, really, dirtier and creepier), let's put this into perspective. This girl decided to fix her hair before Cosby began (because, even though it was dark, looking your best is always important). She lacked a mirror, so she used her camera phone.

That's right. Her camera phone. She turned the viewfinder on herself. As annoying and vain as this was (and hysterical), I have to give her credit for being innovative.

Speaking of innovations (and really bad segues), did you all see that Bob Barker is retiring? The man who got his jollies by sexually harassing* the women on his show (the Barker Beauties) and "hiding" $100 bills in his pockets for "lucky" contestants, is leaving The Price Is Right. Who will remind us to spay and neuter our pets? Who will be condescending when someone fails at Plinko? Who will demonstrate his amazing athletic prowess by sinking a putt in Hole in One? Who will giggle like it is his first time hearing the yodeling song during Cliff Hangers?

And who watched a little too much Price Is Right as a child?

So, people, let's all come on down and observe a moment of silence, please, for this depressing turn of events.

And then go back to the true intellectual game show of America.

Wheel! Of! Fortune!

*Allegedly.

I'll take the treat, thanks

2006-11-01T13:03:00.000-08:00

The temperature has dropped dramatically in Pullman over the last few days. Low teens equals a cold Ace.

It also equals justification for staying inside, watching TV, and drinking hot chocolate.

Speaking of chocolate, can I just say how much I hate the Disney-ification of Halloween? Parents never allow their kids to dress up as anything scary anymore, and trick-or-treating seems to be something in the past at this point. Now kids go to churches or parking lots (I swear to God, and it is called "Trunk or Treating," I am not making this up) for candy.

I was pretty sure there would be no trick-or-treaters at my house, so I didn't buy any candy. I really got a craving for fun sized Milky Ways (and who came up with that misleading title, fun sized my ass!) around 8, and I semi-regretted my decision not to buy candy.

But then I had a vision of myself in the middle of the night, bent over from stomach cramps after eating my own weight in candy, with chocolate ringing my lips. And I was ok with my decision to not buy candy.

That did not stop me, however, from raiding the candy bowl by the register at the coffee shop multiple times. I had no shame, and even took candy when I wasn't even buying more coffee. I'm sure they love me there.

Alright, I now have to go lecture on World War I. The Great War, as some might call it. Those probably aren't the people who suffered from trench-foot. Go google that image after gorging on fun sized Snickers. Yum.

Happy November!

I Got Something to Say!

2006-10-31T12:48:00.000-08:00

Man, I love Halloween. To be more specific, I love Halloween candy. I love being an adult and not having to go out in the cold weather to get Halloween candy.

So I went to a Halloween party on Saturday night. Since I’m a firm believer in always looking my sexiest, I decided to go as Jerry Blank from Strangers With Candy. If by sexy, I mean hideous and inappropriate.

I got to wear a fat suit and there was enough hairspray holding up my hair to last me the rest of my life. And my make-up would have been the envy of any drag queen.

I also decided to remain in character for the entire party, which meant that I got to turn everything into a poorly-disguised sexual innuendo. So that was fun and I’m sure wildly appreciated by all the other party-goers. In my defense, they only encouraged me by saying things like, “I had to glue my mustache on,” and “Will someone hold my rum balls?” and “I’m going outside now.” Just begging for my comments, really.

My personal favorite was when I claimed that my lady-bits were as dry as a summer day in Mexico. For the record, this is ABSOLUTELY something Jerry would say. I am nothing if not committed. When I choose a role, I play it for all its worth, regardless of the disgusted looks on people’s faces.

I also discovered that my fat-suit provided a ready-made shelf to hold my drinks. That’s right, I could place the beer on my padded stomach. Gave me a new appreciation for a man with a nice beer belly.

Uh, not really.

But I did win for “Best Popular Culture Reference.” I like to win because, as Mr. Noblet says, no one is friends with a failure.

No one.

Happy Halloween.

Vertically-challenged

2006-10-27T11:04:00.000-07:00

Damn, sometimes I forget how smooth and graceful I am. Luckily, I usually get daily reminders. Like tripping.

So I was just in the restroom at work (don't worry, it's not one of *those* stories). I'm wearing semi-long pants today, which means I have to wear heels with them. But, let's face it, I wear heels because I'm short. And no one likes short people. And since I am self-less, I don't want to make people uncomfortable by being short, so I wear heels. Sigh. I'm always looking out for others.

Anyways, I'm wearing heels and long pants, and when I stood up to pull my pants (my, this story got personal--my, did I just say my?), my right pant leg got caught on my heel. And I tripped and fell against the stall door. Which was semi-loud, so I'm hoping the people whose offices share a wall with the ladies restroom weren't in yet.

Because Lord knows what they would be thinking was going on in there.

On an unrelated note, Cougar Country has the best pumpkin pie shakes EVER. Go enjoy.

I'm so brave

2006-10-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

First, happy birthday to my two nephews! They are celebrating their very first birthday. One year in the wonderful world where I am their aunt. Lucky, lucky boys. Since they can't read this (that I know of, although they are related to me, so Lord knows what kind of geniuses we have on our hands), I'm not going to spend too much time here. Enjoy the cake, kids, and think of me as you scarf it down.

In other news, I had to get my flu shot last year. There will be no repeat of last year, where I missed a week of work/gossip while watching TV at home. Wait, maybe I acted too rashly . . . a week off sounds pretty good. And this year, I have netflix. Damn you flu shot!

And thank go out to Maryanne who: a) held my hand during the shot (damn you needles!) and b) didn't mock me for making her hold my hand during the shot. That's a true friend. And, on a completely unrelated note, she makes a great pumpkin cheesecake and she's so pretty.

Si, mis amigos, oh si

2006-10-24T15:37:00.000-07:00

I realize that there are a lot of less-than-positive things going on in the world right now. Something big is up in the Middle East from what I understand, school shootings, Stephen Colbert not winning an Emmy, etc.

In this depressing world, we should all grasp any good news we can find. So check your calendar, kids, because it is 1985 once more! Menudo is back! That's right, the band that gave us hits like "Amor Primero," "No Te Reprimas," "and "Sabes A Chocolate" (as well as the Ricky Martin flash trend of good old 1999), is back! In keeping with their age-ist tradition of evicting any males past the pre-pubescent stage, this group will be all new young boys and, if past history teaches us anything, they will kick ass by the truckload!

So prepare for another Puerto Rican invasion, my friends, and just let the world's worries pass you by as all things are once again right with the world!

EZ-Tracks) - Epic Records, MTV, and television producer Ben Silverman have joined forces to resuscitate Menudo (a Puerto Rican boy band) from the grave. Epic Records has purchased an equity stake in everything Menudo – and, they appear to have done so under the umbrella of an investment group known only as “Menudo Entertainment.”

MTV comes into the picture as they will be hosting yet another “making a band” reality show documentary which is slated to be released late in 2007. If Ben Silverman has anything to say about the project, fans can only hope that this new “making the Menudo” documentary will be at least as cool as Silverman’s former ingenious projects such as “Date My Mom” and “Parental Control.”

According to reports, it also seems possible that a Menudo cartoon may be in the works. Also, with Johnny Wright, formerly Justin Timberlake’s manager (as well as other famed boy bands) set to manage the new Menudo – it seems as if this new Menudo scheme may in fact be brilliant.

You're the first, the last . . .

2006-10-23T10:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, I swear I'm working right now, but just a quick thought.

I'm at a local coffeehouse and they are playing Barry White VERY LOUDLY. Is he conducive to studying/working? I don't know. Maybe the coffee industry did a study and found that listening to a man singing about getting it on maybe people thirsty.

It's not working for me. Of course, I'm listening to The Never-Ending Story theme song right now, so I doubt I'm anyone's target audience. Ever.

Good Sunday morning!

2006-10-22T09:36:00.000-07:00

I bought a new vacuum yesterday and I must say that this purchase was, so far, the highlight of my weekend. And, yes, I realize how sad that sounds. I didn't realize how much my old vacuum sucked (or failed to) until this new one made its way into my life. Sigh. Ok, thus ends Ode to the Dirt Devil.

While at the store making said purchase, I got to hear for free what some people pay $3.99 per minute for. This young-ish girl (I'm hoping at least in college) was on her cell phone VIVIDLY describing her activities on the night before. With some random guy she met at a party. Let's just say she blew him away. A-hem. Among other things.

Seriously, detail by detail recounted. And she had to see me standing there because we were on the SAME EXACT AISLE. While I compared different vacuums, she just kept talking. No shame. Or maybe she needed the inspiration of the vacuums to aptly tell her story. Dainty little lady.

Then I went to buy accoutrement for my Halloween costume. Good times. Which is a hint of what I will be. My other hint is hideous. This will be my least attractive costume yet. As an added bonus, only three of us at the party will get it. But that's better than my typical batting average for people who get my jokes.

Oh, and people should go see The Prestige. If only for the surprise (for me at least) appearance of David Bowie. Yes, the Goblin King is in this. Sans massive eye make-up and tight clothing. I love David Bowie, but seeing him play a strait-laced inventor circa turn-of-the-century made me giggle for a good five minutes. And for the one person who didn't get why I was giggling, and just kept staring over at me (probably imagining I was having a mild break-down), now don't you feel silly?

Enjoy the weekend, kids.

Double-check

2006-10-20T14:10:00.000-07:00

Check-list for things to get done Friday:

1) Pack lunch (after gorging on Thai food and cookies last night, probably said lunch should also be semi-healthy)

2) Finish grading exams

3) Do secondary research on some laws

4) Clean office

5) Email abstract to professor in Minnesota

6) Finish article edits

Guess how many of those got done? I love Fridays.

Here is my re-vamped check-list that I think is much more realistic/already accomplished:

1) Buy lunch at work (sounds like a hotdog type of day)

2) Clean half of office until discovery that one of my Elvis magnets fell off my filing cabinet.

3) Get distracted over magnet-fiasco, and get coffee instead

4) Watch clips of The Daily Show on youtube

5) Think about reorganizing books at office. But don't.

6) Start eyeing the clock at 2 and thinking that it is time for the weekend to begin

7) Plan TV-themed costume for department Halloween party

8) Update blog instead of working on article

See, with this list my Friday seems much more productive. I'm off for early drinks to be followed by watching The Prestige (which, for one person in particular out there, features Christian Bale--"Pulitzer and Hearst think we're nothing. Are we nothing!"). Enjoy the weekend.

Vegas Drill on duty

2006-10-19T15:41:00.000-07:00

First, I just passed my oral examinations. So I'm a bit hyped-up. Score for me. I'm all about the ABD now, my friends. Which isn't some vague drug reference. Anyways, since all of my thoughts for the day went into that, I was too lazy to think up a topic.

Therefore, courtesy of my friend Cynthia, here is a fun use of my time to determine my various names. Try this at home, kids.

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Sylvia Ebony (man, I do rock!)

2. YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (Your favorite vacation spot and something from home depot)
Vegas Drill (dirty, dirty)

3. YOUR "FLY Guy/Girl" NAME: (first letter of first name, first syllable of your last name)
A-Can (I'm da-bomb!)

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Purple Dog (maybe I'll just not go into that business)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Elizabeth Pocatello (blech)

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of father's middle name)
Canamar (that sounds more like my drunk Star Wars name)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, favorite drink)
The Purple Tonic

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first name of both your grandfathers)
Leon Archie

9. FUTURISTIC NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne and the name of your favorite kind of shoes)
Chanel Choos

10. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name )..
Marie Archie (the mafia should just put out a hit on me for that)

Have a good Thursday! I shall be eating cookies and watching TV to celebrate the wonders of exams!

Happy Oct. 18th, Elvis!

2006-10-18T12:12:00.000-07:00

First of all, for those who forgot, today is The King’s three-quarter’s birthday. That’s right, just three more months until the big day. For those who are unfamiliar with three-quarter’s birthday protocol, typically you buy a present or make a cake for that person. If that person is dead (even allegedly) than said presents and cake go to his or her biggest fan.

Hi. I like cash gifts and chocolate cake. Hop to.

Second, I’ve got to go home and make some space on the mantle (and perhaps make a mantle). Why? Because my “Best History Instructor EVER” award should be coming soon.

Let’s give this some context, shall we?

When I get stressed, I have two typical responses: I get super-forgetful of everyday things I should know (like my phone number, where my cereal is, where my office is, what my cat’s name is) and/or I get super-giggly. While my friends might argue that I always show symptoms of the first response (damn that early on-set), my second response is always exaggerated.

A couple of years ago, in a class I was taking, I got a horrible case of the giggles. One of my friends drew a funny picture on my notes and I saw this picture just as I raised my hand to answer a question. For twenty minutes, the professor and my fellow classmates had to watch me giggle uncontrollably and try to compose myself. Legendary. I’m sure I impressed everyone that day.

Which brings me up to my expected-award. So today I was lecturing on the New Deal and I was talking about a specific act that old Gimpy McGee pushed through (that’s what us history folks call FDR. Or maybe that’s just me. Because I like to be respectful). This act was designed to get the wealthy to pay more taxes. Some creative genius even named it the Wealth Tax Act. Well done.

Anyways, one of my students, who apparently felt very passionate and enthusiastic about this, announced, “Whoo-hoo! Touchdown FDR!” while raising his arms in the touchdown signal (or whatever that’s called). I have no idea why, but this set me off. It took me a good ten minutes to stop giggling and return to my lecture.

And my students just watched their professor do this. And I’m sure were greatly impressed.

Maturity, thine name is Ace.

Cheers

2006-10-16T13:14:00.000-07:00

I went to a surprise birthday party for my uncle this weekend. Good food, good fun, and, more importantly, good drink. Bottle of Grey Goose, meet Ace.

Speaking of meeting, guess who my family got to meet? Drunk Ace.

And that's all I choose to say on that.

My true Oct. 11 post

2006-10-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

So I forgot to post a Happy Birthday! message to my sister yesterday. But we did go have a celebratory birthday dinner, so that counts for something.

But I would still like to post a happy birthday wish for her. Especially considering she frowned fairly severely when I threatened to sing, so I opted out on that. Why someone would choose to not hear my astounding singing voice is beyond me.

Happy Birthday!!

Farewell Blister

2006-10-11T10:16:00.000-07:00

Blister is no longer welcome in my home. Laura smuggled her in last night while we watched TV and as cute as she was for the first little bit, we soon noticed that Blister had a slight problem.

And by problem, I mean odor. And by slight, I mean major.

I have never smelled anything so foul in my life, and I grew up in Pocatello and work in Lewiston. Blech. It was horrible.

So Blister must stay outside. And I've got the candles going at my house right now. My cat is feeling incredibly smug, I would imagine. She may be fat, but at least she doesn't make me vomit a bit in my mouth.

Yes, I'm politically incorrect

2006-10-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

Before you read this, I just want to warn everyone that there are some footnoted-y parts to this post. These are private jokes. Don’t judge me for them, because I can guarantee that there are going to be three people out there who find them hilarious. Or semi-funny. Or just pretty loser-y. Whatever.

Oh, I should also warn everyone that I’m on a new kick where I add “y” to words. Because clearly passing my doctoral exams did not increase my vocabulary. But I’m still all smart-y and fancy-y. Or something.

Moving to the actual post.

I’m not quite sure how to announce this, but I feel as though I ought to get it off my chest: I’m pretty sure I’m a gay man.

Stuck in the body of a straight woman.

Case in point: how did I choose to end my weekend? I watched Newsies. It’s a musical. Because I love musicals. I might also have this movie memorized, and sometimes I sing the songs when I’m alone. And sometimes when I'm with other people. I also quote heavily from it. Between my love of musicals, my “questionable” taste in 80s music (please to be seeing this post), and my fascination/obsession with Elvis, I’m pretty sure that I come off as gay.*

On paper at least.

Does being a female make these factors of my life more acceptable, or just weirder? I’m going to go with not so much weird as it is hot. Who wouldn’t want someone who knows all the words to a fantastic Disney musical from the early 90s? Who would object to that, and on what grounds? **

So judge away, all you Judge-y Von Holierthanthous. I’ve come to terms with who I am, what I love, and how I express said love. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we all liked ourselves for just who we are?*** And I’m pretty sure I just proved my larger point.

*Not, as Chuck Noblet would say, ass-thumping, but still. Yes, I’m going to hell.
**On the grounds of Brooklyn.
***See how I didn’t use the phrase “fond of”? Because it got me into trouble last time.

Warning: rant alert

2006-10-06T12:36:00.000-07:00

Quick thoughts on recent stories. Okay, so violence in schools is up. How many shootings in the last week? Copy-cat crimes, sociopaths, etc. Do I have a solution to the problem? No. But I'm pretty sure that I could come up with something better than what a Wisconsin state legislator came up with.

Frank Lasee, a Republican, wants to solve the problem by arming teachers. That's right, send the educators into schools with weapons. Now while he doesn't imagine that the teachers will be strolling around with guns in their belts or in shoulder holsters, guns will still be taken onto campuses.

Here's what the genius had to say this morning on CNN when Soledad questioned the logic of this, saying it seemed like that might just make situations more volatile with the possibility of guns stolen or what-have-you. Lasee, employing a brilliant NRA-inspired metaphor, said that that was like saying pencils cause spelling mistakes. Guns don't kill people; people kill people.

Or, as Laura said, now teachers kill people.

I don't want to harp on this, but it scared the pants off of me.

In a less-serous note, it scared me because I remember my high school teachers. Most of them seemed just barely behind postal workers in terms of sanity/anger. Oh, and when this news story was running this morning, I was at the gym listening to it on my headphones. So the people around me had no idea what I was listening to.

Which might have made the audible comments I made seem semi-crazy. I think I might get a little scared if the person working out next to me suddenly starting muttering things about guns and morons and selective breeding to get rid of said morons. I'm fun to take into public.

Have a great weekend!

Things Only Ace Thinks About

Stupid odd numbers

Dee-Licious

On the boats, and on the planes

Freedom, I won't let you down, but I will not give you up

The Great Outdoors

Don't worry, baby

Traveling intermission

Rabbits and porn

Cat burglar

Less than a year . . .

And The Shrine will grow . . .

Six days

Commence the commencement

The Inner Dork

Sounds like a bluetooth to me

Speak up, sonny!

We can't all be winners. Just me.

Whatt kind of moroon leafes in tpyos?

May Celebrations

Is Paulie Walnuts the funniest name ever? Uh, just me?

Father Knows Best

A damn fine cup of coffee

If I came there would you let me call you home?

So the razor, but not the shampoo?

The only good bunny is a chocolate bunny

Dressed for success

Seriously, do these things happen to others?

Going the Distance

Color me content

My All-O'Mear-ican Adventure

There's no place like the ghetto

Just desserts

Early Bird specials

Take a deep breath . . .

Bald Britney and Scenic Hawaii: The Beauty of Ace's World

Ebay Adventures

No massacres today, thank you

My Own Private Oliver

Quick thoughts

Enjoy the ice

Feb. 2

R.I.P. Flashdrive

Oh, Justin

My rules

Movin' on up

OCD meets bitterness

Mmmm, chocolate. And interest charges.

Stupid basic cable

My unintentional brashness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~January 8th~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aren't holidays fun?

Movin' on up

Dead on

You can ring her bell

Bam!

Merry Christmas!

My shitty Christmas

I like numbers

The Italian Stallion delivered

Zoinks and jinkies and sadness all around

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go . . .

The leisurely life of Ace

The Jungle Room, 3-D

Maybe you're a cotton-headed ninny-muggins

Don't exams make us all sick, though?

Holiday statistics

You WILL get a sentimental feeling

Maybe I'll go online next year . . .

T-minus 24 days

The Iceman Cameth

Limp studs

Oreos and vomit in one post! Amazing!!

Pukey Ace

Belated and bloated posting

My cornacopia overfloweth

Like moths to a flame

Classy touches from Hollywood

The truthiness of sexiness

Royale with Cheese

~January 8th~